


In The Control Room: Outtakes From The Mating Games

by ktface3



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Multi, Outtakes, Prequel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:50:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktface3/pseuds/ktface3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The camera can only focus on one perspective at a time, but what about all that unseen footage? Here you'll find out what Katniss was thinking during the Games, get the backstories of all your favorite characters in the TMG context, and yes, there will probably be some smut. A lot of smut. Probably smut in every chapter. Read TMG first so you understand what the heck this AU is all about; more tags to come as chapters are added!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Ache Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! I am SO excited for these outtakes, and to expand on the world of TMG. Several chapters will feature Katniss' POV, and will be in first-person present-tense, and everyone else's POV's will be in third-person past-tense to differentiate from hers. BIG thanks to Phantom Serenity over at FF.net for beta'ing. Enjoy!

TIMELINE: This occurs between chapters 5 and 6 of TMG

 

“Be ready bright and early for your remake, dear! Tomorrow’s going to be a big, big day!”

With the click of the door shutting behind her, Effie leaves my room for the night, and I fall onto the soft, large bed that I can’t believe is mine. Both Prim and my mother could share it with me, and we would even have room to spare.

This has been a hell of a day. Long, and torturous. Was it only this morning that I was out hunting past the fence? And now I’m trapped in the fucking penthouse suite of the tribute Training Center, awaiting the lifetime sentence that the Gamemakers will force upon me in a few short days.

My head spins with anger that I can direct at no one in particular right now, and it quickly becomes clear to me that I had too much to drink tonight. I wonder if I can skip the rest of those stupid parties. They feel like another tool used to coerce me into letting my guard down.

I can’t let that happen. I have to stay alert, and strategize. It’s the only way I’ll survive.

It’s clear now that I can’t campaign for Single status—the Gamemakers have already labeled me as the next Johanna Mason, and I just can’t run the risk of putting my family in danger. I can’t let them end up like Johanna’s family did.

But that means I’ll have to…

I close my eyes to stop the dizzy feeling, but quickly open them again with a gasp as my mind’s eye greets me with an image that’s even more frightening:

A pair of deep blue eyes, a head of tousled blond locks, and a stupid, shy smile.

I can still feel his fingers on my arms from when he steadied himself against me during our kiss, creating a swell of goose bumps on my skin and sending a shiver down my spine.

I can still feel his lips against mine, like a ghost hovering there in the darkness.

And now that annoying ache is back again. The one low in my belly that has come and gone since puberty, and it’s throbbing worse now than I’ve ever felt it. Maybe what’s causing it is nerves—the anxiousness of what I’ll have to do in the next couple weeks.

I close my eyes again, and see him in the meadow walking purposefully toward me. I see him in Haymitch’s room on the train, a blush creeping over his face at his confession. I see him sitting so close to me in the hallway, coaxing me to tell him what’s wrong.

I open my eyes and notice I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Then again, maybe it’s nerves of a whole different kind.

I know how to get rid of the ache. Back home it would usually plague me at night, like it is now, before going to sleep. If Prim happened to be sleeping in Mother’s bed, it meant I could quietly manipulate my fingers around my nub until I felt relief. If Prim was sleeping with me, it usually meant a rather restless night. A couple of times I had to go into the bathroom for privacy in order to just get it over with and get some sleep.

But my mind hasn’t wandered like this before. Whenever I would get myself off, I would only focus on the feelings inside my body, and never on…

Fuck, I can’t get those blue eyes out of my mind!

It had to be _him_ , didn’t it? It’s just my luck that for some reason he’s chosen to take pity on me _yet_ _again_ and try to save me. Well, I already owe him for saving my life once, and I refuse to owe him for any more.

But if I won’t pair with him, then who will I pair with?

I took notice of the other male tributes tonight. Rue, Annie, and Mags even made a game of it—someone would pick out a guy and each of us would have to say if we would want him based on looks alone. I said no to everyone—most of them looked predatory, and I will not be considered anyone’s prey.

Luckily they didn’t have time to play that game with Peeta before he came and sat with us, or else I don’t know what my answer would be.

Do I… _want_ him?

It’s a question I’ve never had to consider. It appears _he_ wants _me_ for some reason that I can’t fathom, and I try to think of all I know about the boy I’ve never really interacted with until today in an effort to understand.

He’s already proven to me that he’s kind, and I know that he was well liked in school. He was always honored with awards for academics and sports, and sometimes I would see him in the market helping his father, who is also a very kind man for buying my squirrels every week. And Prim, of course, just had to tell me that she found out he frosts all the pretty cakes and cookies at the bakery.

Why on earth would someone so talented and popular have any interest in _me_? I still have no clue.

But, he kissed me, after all, so he must be interested in me… right?

After he kissed me, I did feel a kind of… desperation. I wanted a do-over. I wasn’t prepared for that kind of thing, and if I was going to be a part of a kiss, I wanted to be on _my_ terms.

The liquor seemed to help—or, didn’t help, depending on the perspective. I definitely felt less inhibited with it coursing through my system, and was able to initiate another kiss and get the feeling of desperation out of my system.

Of course, relief lasted about five seconds before I longed to do it again.

Stupid alcohol.

But, as I lie here in the darkness and it slowly wears off, I notice the longing is still there, as is the ache. Which makes me wonder, is it the liquor that’s giving me that crazed feeling? Or is it because I _do_ really want him?

Determined to figure this out once and for all, I close my eyes and let my hand wander past my stomach and into my underwear. I gently touch my nub as I try to think of Peeta. It’s awkward, and I can feel my face heating up in embarrassment, but I try to focus on the kiss we shared in the hallway, and suddenly another feeling overpowers the self-consciousness.

I settle further into the bed and this time I _try_ to feel his lips on mine, so soft and supple against my own. I find that I want more than just our lips to touch, and so my memory turns to fantasy as I imagine myself wrapping my arms around him and pressing my body against his strong frame.

The feeling of my fingers against my clit suddenly makes sense as I envision my aching body finding relief against _him_ , perhaps even having _his_ fingers touching me so intimately. His calloused hands tickling and pressing on my nub, making me squirm and twitch—it’s all too much to fantasize about, and I let out a soft moan at the thought.

I can feel the ache reaching its apex, and so I move my hand to position my fingers at the entrance to my body. I push two of them in, and grind on my nub with the heel of my hand as I try to picture Peeta’s face. I’m not sure exactly how this position would look in real life—they don’t show much below the waist when they televise the Games—but I know that he would… enter me, somehow. I try to create the sensation of what I think that would feel like, and a shudder runs through my body.

I buck my hips up into my hand as I imagine kissing him more, and a low whimper escapes my lips. His name is on the tip of my tongue, but I dare not speak it aloud, for many reasons. I writhe in ecstasy on the bed, finally losing control and feeling my body tense and release around my fingers. They’re drenched—more than they ever have been—and I try to wipe them on the inside of my underwear the best I can to dry them.

I let out a heavy sigh as I revel in the pulsating sensations in my nether region. I feel a smile play on my lips and a stretch my body out on the bed, feeling freer than I know I am.

I open my eyes and find it jarring to be in this strange room, alone. As much relief as my body feels having been sated by my hand, I still feel a slight tightening in my chest at the thought of being so solitary. I have the strangest urge to cuddle up next to a warm body, and have to settle for my pillow for now.

I can feel my eyes getting heavy as I finish arranging myself, exhaustion finally able to hit me after giving myself pleasure. But I know this time was different from all the times before it. It seems as though… I _do_ want Peeta in that way, and that it maybe wouldn’t be so bad to pair with him, if that’s even allowed.

I still have my doubts, and questions that need to be answered—my main concern being that he’s just taking pity on me—but maybe if he likes me like he says he does, I could be agreeable to a pairing.

The thought doesn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. It still scares me in its most basic form, but with him attached to the connotation… It doesn’t seem so unbearable.

A fleeting wish for him to have found me earlier this morning passes through my mind as I drift off to sleep, my dreams that night filled with possibilities of what’s yet to come.


	2. The 52nd Annual Mating Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consider this a little prequel to TMG--it's Peeta's parents' Games, everyone!

The sun beat down on Bannock Mellark’s back as he picked up his legs to run through the tall grasses. He couldn’t see anything in front of him except for the long, dried out reeds that swayed with the movements of the wind and the tributes moving all around him.

They had been released into this field with almost no hope of finding anyone in particular. No tribute could see over the grass in order to run to the object of their affections, which would make the pairings all the more interesting.

Which tributes would give up and settle, and which ones would keep searching for the mates they had their hearts set on?

Not that any of it mattered to Bannock—the girl he wished to pair bond with wasn’t in the arena at all. She was most likely cuddled up next to her new husband—the coal miner, he thought with contempt—watching the Games together in the comfort of their new home.

Their home in the Seam.

Bannock wrinkled his nose at the thought. He didn’t like picturing sweet Iris Abbott in the Seam, her clothes coal-covered and moth-eaten, her cheeks hollow…

She belonged in the merchant quarters, in her parents’ apothecary shop, carefully mixing healing herbs for the ailing of the district and giggling as Bannock leaned over the wooden counter to tell her a joke. It was easy to imagine her being joyful there, taking pleasure in all she did, surrounded by people who revered her…

Imagining her in the Seam… it didn’t make sense to him. But, nothing about this situation really made _that_ much sense…

What bothered Bannock the most was that he just couldn’t imagine doing what she did, giving up what he considered necessities—regular meals, running water, a clean house—for someone he loved. Yes, he was in love with Iris, but didn’t know if he could’ve given those things up, even if it meant getting to be with her.

Bannock hated himself for thinking that way, and he knew he didn’t deserve Iris because of it. It made him start to believe that the great Abraham Everdeen—the one who sang so beautifully that even the birds stopped to listen—really did deserve her. _He_ wouldn’t have hesitated had the situation been reversed and he had been the merchant. _He_ would’ve moved to the Seam in a heartbeat for Iris.

Because Abraham was, after all, willing to do anything for the ones he loved, and was a loyal friend and ally to merchants and Seam folk alike. Everyone in the district admired him, and Bannock knew down in his bones that Abraham was the better man, the one meant for Iris.

But just because he knew it to be true, didn’t mean it didn’t leave him torn up inside.

Bannock stopped and shook his head, attempting to clear away the troubling thoughts that plagued him. What was done was done, and now he just had to focus on securing a mate.

It was that, or be killed. After all, there were more males than females in the arena this year, and Bannock only received a skills score of 7 for his pastries, which were slightly subpar due to the uneven cooking of the ovens. He was pretty sure a 7 wouldn’t grant him Single status.

Anxiety overcame Bannock as he turned the predicament over in his mind, and the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he would surely be deemed unfit to procreate, and be executed in this field. The biggest obstacle in Bannock’s way was that he had no idea how to court a woman, much less convince her to have sex with him. After all, he’d thought his feelings for Iris were obvious after flirting with her for years, but when he finally said the words out loud, she’d had no idea he was interested in her.

She told him she’d never looked at him as more than just a friend, and that she didn’t think she could _ever_ see him as anything more. For her, there was no spark… No fire. She apologized over and over to him, which only exemplified her caring nature. Apologizing for rejecting him—Bannock laughed humorlessly at the thought.

Somehow he knew—whether he died in this field today or lived a long life as the husband of another—his heart would always belong to Iris Abbot. Iris Everdeen.

Bannock’s breathing grew heavier as he again considered the probability of his imminent death. He stalled and placed his hands on his knees, panting like a dog in heat, and wondered if he should just lie down here and wait to die. Finding a mate was certainly out of the question—Bannock couldn’t think of a single time during the past week when he’d even spoken to any of the female tributes. It was a fool’s errand thinking any of them would be interested in him; much less even know who he was.

Just then— _smack!_ Bannock was knocked to the ground as another body collided with his. He grabbed his elbow and examined the scrape he received from the fall, and then looked over to the tribute who ran into him.

The first thing Bannock noticed about her was her auburn hair. It reminded him of when the leaves change color in the fall, and it was tied up in a bun on the back of her head. She was petite, and had green, almond-shaped eyes, and full, pouting lips. Bannock recognized her as the only female tribute from District 6, and knew her picture had flashed on the screen when his DNA matches were announced, but Bannock couldn’t remember much more about her.

“S—sorry,” Bannock apologized, even though it had been _she_ who had ran into _him_.

“It’s okay,” she replied as she rubbed her shoulder. Then she looked up at him, and she seemed surprised with who she saw staring back at her. She cocked her head to the side and there was a glint of something in her eye. “You’re from 12, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “I’m Bannock… Bannock Mellark.”

“Noora Gibson,” she introduced herself, smiling softly. “We’re a match.”

Bannock nodded, “We are.”

“Well then,” Noora sighed, “unless you’re looking for someone in particular out here, I wouldn’t mind pairing with you.” She gave him a wicked grin and began to crawl toward him.

“What?” Bannock gasped, shocked by her forwardness.

Noora rolled her eyes at the man’s stupidity. “I said, I wouldn’t mind pairing with you. I studied up on all my potential matches, and I remember that you’re a baker with a younger sister from District 12. It’s not an ideal district for me by any means, but it’s a respectable, merchant profession, and having a sister means you may give me girls.”

Bannock’s mouth opened and shut several times, not quite knowing what to say. How Noora had managed to conclude all of that from those few pieces of information, he had no idea. Her logic was sound, that was for certain, but Bannock wasn’t sure if he appreciated her system for selection. It seemed too… clinical. He wanted what Iris had talked about: spark, fire, passion.

But looking at the girl in front of him, and weighing potential happiness with her against his certain demise, Bannock suddenly found himself more agreeable to a clinical and logical pairing, one based on facts instead of emotions.

But then he thought of what he would have to do next, and he—he couldn’t just… _become intimate_ with Noora so immediately. He barely knew her! It seemed wrong to… to go at it right away.

“Tell me about yourself,” Bannock finally managed to find his voice again.

Noora sighed wistfully and leaned back onto the heels of her hands. “Well, I’m from District 6, the younger-middle child of four. My parents like to joke that they’re ‘overachievers’ for having more than their quota. And, uh… I’m quite good at math so I could keep the business’ books for you. The skill I demonstrated for the Gamemakers was solving complicated algorithms. And, um…” Noora began to look nervous, wringing her hands and biting her plump lower lip. “I don’t know,” she concluded, laughing uneasily. “I’m… particular about things, I guess. I like things done my way, and some people find that off-putting. Okay, everyone finds it off-putting. It’s why I’m the only _fucking_ tribute from my district, cause no one wanted me…” Her face flushed red in embarrassment, and she apologized for her outburst, “Sorry, I’m rambling. I don’t mean to scare you, but… you deserve to know what you’re getting into.”

“It’s okay,” Bannock replied, not sure what else to say. She was right; there was something off-putting about her insecurity, her cold nature, her obvious strain to be pleasant. But Bannock again compared a life with this girl to the possible ending of his life, and he knew the choice was clear. He moved toward her cautiously, placing his large hand against her cheek, and told her softly, “I’ll pair with you.”

Noora’s eyes brightened and a smile spread over her face before she attacked him with kisses. She tackled him to the ground, making quick work of his pants and taking his length in her hand. It quickly grew hard as she stroked him, and after discarding her own pants and shoes, she sat on him and he filled her body.

Bannock could barely concentrate as Noora moved above him, his mind swirling with questions. Was this the right choice? Would they be happy together? Where would they be assigned to live? Would he ever love her as much as he loved Iris? Was Iris watching them fuck right now? Despite himself, Bannock could feel himself coming to the edge, and so he grabbed Noora’s waist firmly and thrust into her, spilling his seed inside her. Her release came shortly after his, and she collapsed on top of him just as a hovercraft appeared in the sky, beaming a force field down to take them away.

As they rose up together, their firework shooting up and exploding in the sky and their pictures reflecting their newly coupled status, Bannock looked into the eyes of his mate and was thankful that he had at least found _someone_ who would pair bond with him. It meant he could continue living, continue baking, and hopefully enjoy the blessings of children some day soon.

He hoped for Noora’s sake that he could give her some girls.


	3. Annie's Fish Tale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should probably make sure you've read up through chapter 10 of TMG before reading this--chapter 10 is now up here on AO3!

Annie’s eyes fluttered open as the soft morning light filled her room. She hadn’t slept this peacefully in years, and she knew the reason why. Finnick slumbered softly beside her, and Annie could not help the smile that overtook her face.

They were together again, _finally_.

Annie thought it would never happen, getting to be with Finnick so intimately once more. Memories of their first year together, when she was only a girl of fourteen, flipped through her mind, and she remembered the insecure feelings she’d had as Finnick professed his love for her. She’d always thought of herself as mousy, her figure too gaunt and angular to be considered womanly, her eyes too wide and green, like some kind of creature from outer space.

But what she saw in herself as flaws, Finnick revered them as marks of beauty. He loved staring into her eyes and tracing his fingers along her waist and over her hipbones so gently, it made her shudder all over. But more than the fact that Finnick appreciated her form, he loved just talking to her as they lay wrapped up in each other’s arms. He told her that he was enamored with her caring nature, and that her unbridled sense of optimism was inspiring.

She could make him laugh, and he had a beautiful laugh.

The optimism she inspired in him helped him think of his plan in the first place. They both knew his name would be entered into the Reaping, and that he would be forced away to the Capitol to find a mate against his will. Annie had quietly resided herself to the fact that being with him would never be a possibility, but as she watched him being interviewed by Caesar Flickerman, reciting a poem for his “one true love,” Annie knew he wasn’t referring to any one of the swooning tributes sitting above him. The poem was for her:

 

_Into this strange elastic world,_

_Pontus kindly gave up a pearl._

_Of his eternal stone and mud,_

_And ain't she lovely, bone and blood._

_Born of the sea_

_A thousand miles, away from me._

_A court of angels, wards of the sun._

_A future forming, a curse undone._

_Under our softly burning lamps, she_

_Takes her time_

_Telling stories of our possible lives,_

_And love is the ink in the well_

_When her body writes._

_A song in the tree has distracted her mind._

_Some other curious form of life_

_Has made its presence to her known_

_And she coos so gently, soft and low._

_Her shining face in a million reflections_

_On tiny raindrops that fall in a veil_

_Over our city like notes from above._

_It overwhelms me. I just ain't that tough._

_It's not that the darkness can't touch our lives,_

_I know it will, in time,_

_But she's no ordinary valentine_

_And now, when the sun goes down, she sheds a darling light._

_I've been selfish and full of pride,_

_But she knows deep down there's a little child._

_And I've got a good side to me as well,_

_And it's that she loves in spite of everything else._

_  
_

It was a confession of his devotion. It was a promise to remain true to her. It was a signal for her to have faith, and wait for him. It was also a big risk, and Annie hoped with all her might that a ten would be a high enough training score to have the Gamemakers spare him.

Sure enough, he was left alone in the arena, along with a pair of lesbian lovers from District 3. Both women rejected him, pledging their love only to each other, and were executed for it. Finnick was the only one left standing, and was indeed awarded Single status. Annie was sure the look of relief she saw on his face matched her own.

They could be together. It would have to be in secret, but they could still be together.

Annie waited for weeks as she saw other tributes return to their districts with their new mates and settle in to their homes. But Finnick still was nowhere to be found. Some days it took all Annie had inside her not to plant herself at the train station and wait right there for him. She kept herself busy by mending the nets her father used for fishing, and when she ran out of nets to mend, she made new ones.

Finally, Finnick returned home. Annie was overjoyed to have him back, but as soon as she laid eyes on him, she knew something was wrong. His smile didn’t reach his eyes anymore, and he walked with a slight yet noticeable limp. What made matters worse was he was a district celebrity now, and so everyone in town sought his attention. Annie didn’t get a moment alone with him until he snuck into her bedroom on his third night back.

It was there, whispering to her in the darkness, that Finnick told Annie about the real horrors of the Games. Not just that people are forced into marriage and procreation for the Capitol’s entrainment, but that Singles, those who are not forced, are ensured not to procreate at all.

He cried in shame as he showed her the ugly scar running down the mound of flesh where his manhood had once been, and she cried with him, mourning the loss of the possibility of one day bearing his children.

It was not long after then that the calls from the Capitol came.

It appeared charming young Finnick had been a crowd favorite in the Games, and his Single status allowed him to visit the Capitol as he pleased. Many Capitol people wanted him at their parties to impress their friends, and Finnick and Annie both agreed it was harmless enough for him to be away from her and District 4 from time to time. In fact, she enjoyed hearing his Capitol stories at first…

But as time went on, Annie found Finnick away from her more often. Trips that were only lasting a day or two in the beginning started to last for weeks. And something was different about those few, precious moments they did share—Finnick seemed distant, often lost in his own thoughts. Annie began to feel like he’d been taken from her after all, only it was worse, because he felt so within reach.

Now, it wasn’t uncommon for her to cry herself to sleep at night, or to spend her days weaving nets absentmindedly.

The final blow came when Finnick told her he’d be moving to the Capitol. Some wealthy woman had bought him an apartment, and when Annie asked why the woman would do a thing like that for him, Finnick broke down and told her what he’d been doing all those months. How he had been sexually pleasuring the men and women who had bought his company, and how the Capitol had been threatening to kill his family if he didn’t go through with it. Annie felt betrayed, not because of the acts he had been performing, but because he had kept it a secret from her for so long.

Finnick pleaded with her to still love him, to still wait for him, but Annie wouldn’t have it. She was too hurt to even look at him, and so she slammed her front door in his face. He left without getting to say goodbye to her, and once her initial anger had waned, sadness washed over her like a tidal wave because she knew she would probably never see him again.

He attempted to hang himself in his new Capitol apartment the first night he got there.

Annie floated through her life like a ghost for months after the incident. Not even weaving nets kept her preoccupied. Now she just sat and stared, lost in her own thoughts, slowly going mad. One by one, her friends all abandoned her, save for Mags, the quirky daughter of the bait and tackle shop owners. Mags had heard the rumors about Finnick going around and thankfully didn’t press Annie for details, and so over time, Annie was able to open up to her.

Mags had been there the first time Annie got a letter from Finnick. It didn’t say much, only that the next years’ Games were drawing near and that he would be a mentor to the tributes. It also included his poem to her, and as she read it, she understood what he wanted from her.

 

_It's not that the darkness can't touch our lives,_

_I know it will, in time,_

_But she's no ordinary valentine_

_And now, when the sun goes down, she sheds a darling light._

_I've been selfish and full of pride,_

_But she knows deep down there's a little child._

_And I've got a good side to me as well,_

_And it's that she loves in spite of everything else._

_  
_

He wanted her to still wait for him. To not pair with anyone once her year for the Games came around. To be eligible for the Reaping and come to the Capitol, where they could be together again.

Annie struggled with this request, not wanting to so easily give in to Finnick’s wishes, and it only made it harder with each new letter from him. They spoke of, not just his hope to be with her again, but of grander hopes: of freedom, of escape, of something growing that was bigger than them. The letters were cryptic, and coded, and sometimes Annie couldn’t make heads or tails of them, but they always included a plea for her to have faith, and wait for him.

In the end, Annie didn’t even have time to consider her choices. The Reaping came around before she even realized it—she hadn’t considered a future for herself, and somehow didn’t notice all of her cohorts pairing off around her. Suddenly, she found herself and her fellow tributes, Mags included, being escorted by Finnick and their district escort, Nereus, to the train bound for the Capitol. Finnick had sought her out on the train ride, and looking into his broken, desperate, sea green eyes, Annie really saw his misery, and couldn’t deny that she still had feelings for him. She gave in to those feelings, and for the first time in years, she was able to feel normal, happy again.

Finnick stirred beside her, bringing her back to the present, and she smiled at him as she met his sleepy eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said groggily as he lightly kissed her. He hummed a little and began to recite her poem to her, softly singing the verses:

 

_Under our softly burning lamps, she_

_Takes her time_

_Telling stories of our possible lives,_

_And love is the ink in the well_

_When her body writes…_

_  
_

He moved his mouth down her neck to her diminutive breasts, and she hissed as he gently sucked on her nipple.

“Finnick, you should go,” she tried to reason. “If they catch us—”

“They won’t catch us,” Finnick insisted. “And even if they do, you’re worth it. To hold you in my arms, to see you come apart…” He scooted off the bed and fastened on the silicone device he had used on her last night, and Annie shivered in remembrance of how it had hit her just at the right spot. He seductively stalked toward her and pounced onto the bed, enveloping her in his arms and planting kisses all over her body.

“It’s all worth it, my love,” he whispered into her ear.

Annie groaned as Finnick skillfully worked his fingers in and out of her, making her wet enough for him to enter her, and she let herself come undone in his arms as her first orgasm overtook her. She recovered quickly, finding the spots that made Finnick shudder in satisfaction, happy to make him feel that way even if she could make him lose control like he did for her. He pushed her back onto the bed and thrust the device inside her, and she whimpered in pleasure as it filled her.

“Please, deeper…” Annie begged as her second orgasm built.

“Anything for you…” Finnick answered.

“Annie, do you have my—oh, shit!” she heard Mags squeak from the doorway, and then she heard the door slam. Annie glanced to the door in a haze as she heard voices on the other side, and when she looked back at Finnick, she saw the fear in his eyes.

“It’s Nereus,” he told her. “He’s arguing with Mags about getting into your room.”

“Shit! Go, hide in the bathroom or something!” Annie cried.

Finnick scrambled off the bed and caught his legs up in the sheets. He tripped and fell onto the floor, and by then it was too late.

“What in the _hell_ is going on here?” Nereus asked, his arms folded over his chest and his piercing glare centered on Finnick. “A mentor, having sex with a tribute? What a _flagrant_ violation!” Nereus pulled out his phone and began to frantically dial.

In the background, Annie could see the terror and sorrow in Mags’ eyes, and Annie knew she was done for.

“Seneca? It’s Nereus. We have a situation…”

Annie could feel her breathing become shallow and labored.

“And the Peacekeepers are on their way?”

She felt Finnick move beside her and wrap a blanket around her naked form.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll figure out how to make an example of them…”

She saw the Peacekeepers barge in the room, practically knocking Nereus out of the way, and the last thing Annie remembered was a scream rising from her chest as they slammed Finnick’s head against the floor, rendering him unconscious, before they grabbed her fragile body and did the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finnick's poem is actually "September," by The Shins. I can't not think of Finnick and Annie whenever I hear it. And sorry for the weird spacing on the lyrics, I couldn't make them single spaced for some reason.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Katniss' POV of The Deed!!!
> 
> (You should read up through chapter 14 of TMG to get the context.)
> 
> Big thanks to my beta, Phantom Serenity (on FF.net), who makes me blush with her comments. :)

I could kiss Madge Undersee for all her great advice. I always thought the details of her dirty exploits were going in one ear and out the other—I did  _not_  need to hear about her and Brock fucking at the slag heap—but all the pointers she gave me seemed to come rushing back as soon as I started to actually need those skills…

_“Katniss, you know where Brock is really sensitive? His earlobe! When I suck on it, it drives him wild…!”_

_“There’s this spot right behind his, um, family jewels, where I rub with my thumb…”_

_“He encourages me to be as loud as I want, and not to hold back. It’s how he knows I like it…”_

Bless you, Madge.

We have one day left before the arena, and the entire day will be devoted to prepping and taping our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Which means Peeta and I are running out of time to actually…

I blush as I think about it and pray Peeta isn’t watching me right now.

I really hope our plan for the interviews goes off without a hitch. In a way, it will be true what he says, that we didn’t get to the Justice Building in time to file our papers. Of course, back then only  _he_  knew that was the case, while I was somehow completely oblivious to him. I try to think of how that was even possible—for me not to have even considered Peeta as a good match—and I can’t come up with an answer.

My excuse is that I saw him differently back then. He was the boy who I had never properly repaid for saving my life, and whenever I looked at him, I felt nothing but shame. I didn’t see him like I see him now—sweet, charming… _ridiculously_  attractive…

And, I’m blushing again.

Not to mention, I had a different plan back then, and I was set on following that plan: focus on getting out of the Games as a Single, and provide for my family as I had always done, keeping my mother and my sister as my top priorities.

Peeta certainly threw a wrench into that plan, didn’t he?

I allow myself a hint of a smile as the sun shines down on my body. Apart from the chimes in the garden making a quiet jingling noise, the only other sound I hear is Peeta’s slow, steady breathing. I sigh and settle further in to the blanket below me. I know it’s him making me feel this way—calm, carefree, forgetting all obligation to my family… making me feel like a teenager instead of an adult. 

Making me feel… desired.

I can feel his gaze on me, and I know he’s giving me that longing look. The one he gives me when we’re with the others and we can’t touch each other. The one that makes me want to pin him to the ground and try all of Madge’s tricks on him, that makes me feel like I can surrender to him and it will be okay.

We may be running out of time to actually do the deed, but what I’m running even lower on is patience.

I turn onto my side and find him staring at me, just as I suspected. “Can I help you with something?” I ask with a smirk.

“No,” he blushes, embarrassed that I caught him. “I just like looking at you.”

My insides react to his compliment by turning to mush.

“Stalker,” I say with a laugh. I know he’s not  _really_ , but I have no qualms teasing him about the way he gazes at me.

“Pretty much,” he agrees with a smile.

Our playful banter dissolves as I stare into his deep blue eyes, much bluer than the sky above us. I never thought I’d say this, but it gives me physical pain to think of not being with him, that the odds are possibly  _not_  in our favor. He’s brought me so far, opened me up to a brighter future than I ever could’ve imagined, full of possibilities, and to have all that taken away is too much to think about.

I  _need_  to believe the odds are in our favor.

“Peeta,” I ask hesitantly, “what more do you know about the rebellion?”

He pauses for a long moment, turning my question over in his mind, and finally he says, “We’re going to be rescued from the arena. And then we’re going… somewhere. And then we’ll get to be together, and all our friends will be there too.”

He places a soft kiss on my cheek, and it reminds me of how his lips had been… _down there_  last night. I feel my face heat up at the thought of it.

Katniss, focus!

“What about our families?” I ask, partially to distract myself, and partially to see what exactly he knows.

“I… I don’t know.”

Well, that answers my question.

“I told Haymitch I wanted our families rescued as well,” I tell him, scooting my body closer to him. I lay my head on his chest and I can hear his heartbeat. “If it’s possible.”

He places an arm around my torso and replies, “I’m sure it’s possible. After all, it’s your brilliant idea that will help the rebellion the most. Haymitch will owe you.”

I cringe as I think of my coaching session with Haymitch this morning. The insufferable drunk was not  _at all_  receptive to my plan, and even questioned my motives for wanting to be with Peeta in the first place, thinking I was only looking to make it back to my family and would leave him as soon as this was accomplished. 

“I don’t know if Haymitch thought it was so brilliant,” I laugh humorlessly. “He grilled me on every angle of the plan, like he thought I overlooked something.”

“Don’t worry, you didn’t,” Peeta responds, pulling me closer to him and putting his nose in my hair. I hear him inhale and exhale with a soft sigh, and I try not to laugh at how adorable he’s being right now.

I was honest with Haymitch—it  _had_  crossed my mind that I can return to my family if Peeta and I pair, but I’ve only ever looked at it as a perk, a bonus added on to the real prize, which is Peeta himself. I told Haymitch how I had fought my feelings tooth and nail, but couldn’t deny them—not after that first night when Peeta kissed me, and not after I had tried to resist him when Annie was taken away. Haymitch finally started to believe me when I confessed my true feelings for Peeta, an act that frightened me to my very core.

It was the first time I had said how I felt out loud.

Haymitch and I agreed not to tell Peeta about our conversation—it would hurt him too much to even consider that I might be using him, even though I’m not. And besides that, I want to be the one to tell him how much I really care, and not have it come from some sad, drunken, old man. But again, I fear the time to tell him is dwindling.

“And he definitely said it was brilliant to me,” Peeta continues his train of thought. “I’m sure he was just trying to make sure it was foolproof before he gave us the go-ahead.”

“You’re probably right,” I say with a sigh, tilting my head up to kiss him lightly on the lips. The kiss is electric, and makes me want to show him right now exactly how much I care for him. “Let’s forget about Haymitch for a while,” I suggest, and he replies with another soft kiss. This one grows deeper quickly, and it isn’t long before I’m clinging to him as if my life depended on it.

Peeta tugs on me gently, and I get the hint and move on top of him so that our bodies are flush against one another. I can feel his hard length against my leg, and as I press into it, he lets out a delicious groan, sending a thrill through me.

I still can’t get over the fact that  _I_  do that to him.

I push on his hard cock again and he squirms underneath me, and I relish the thought of making him feel so good. He counters by rolling his thumb and forefinger over each of my nipples, sending waves of pleasure through me, and I begin to move against him instinctively. Our bodies are wrapped around one another so tightly, and with each buck of our hips, I can feel the throbbing ache deep in my core, and I know that I can’t wait any longer. The time to do the deed is now or never.

“Peeta,” I hear myself say in a breathless whisper as I grind my hips down on him, “I can’t stand it… I—I  _want_  you…”

He stills and pulls me back, staring deep into my eyes with a questioning look on his face. Does he believe what I’m saying?

“You—you want… all of—of  _everything_?” he stammers, and I can feel him trembling slightly below me. Is he… afraid? There’s no reason for him to be afraid. This is so  _right_ , and he of all people should know it.

I nod my head in response and tell him confidently, “I’m ready. I trust you. I  _need_ you. I—”

He interrupts me by sweeping me up into a passionate kiss, telling me with his body that there’s no more need for talk. When we come up for air, the look in his eyes says it all. I glance around and remember we’re in an open area, and not wanting anyone else to see us naked, I take a blanket and wrap it around us, creating our own protective bubble. We slowly remove layer by layer of clothing until we’re both completely exposed, and I try not to gasp as I lay my eyes upon him—all of him—for the first time.

I had noticed his broad shoulders and expansive chest, had felt his rippling abs against my skin, and had taken his length in my hand, but I’ve never put the whole picture together before. I feel mesmerized as I gaze upon the distinct V shape at his pelvis that leads me straight to his cock, hard and ready for me. I shiver slightly in anticipation.

I glance up at him and notice his eyes raking over my form as well, and I just can’t wait any longer. I pull the blanket tighter around us, bringing him closer to me until we brush up against each other, and I actually hear him gasp at the sensation. I stare up into his magnificent blue eyes and he captures my mouth with his own, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in to him. I moan softly as we kiss, feeling relief as I thrust my aching center against him, and I know that this is it—

“Wait,” he shouts as he pulls away from me.

I know it’s irrational, but I want to strangle him for torturing me like this.

“What?” I ask, trying and failing not to sound too annoyed.

“We don’t—we need, I uh… I don’t want you to end up like Cecilia.”

“Oh,” I say as the risk of what we’re about to do crosses my mind.

Cecilia. Pregnant. Child.

I’m reminded of that awkward conversation with my mother a few months ago. Prim had just gotten her very first menses, and my mother suddenly realized I hadn’t been using any rags for months. She asked me if I was being intimate with anyone and I immediately said no—the very thought disgusted me back then—and she speculated that I was too generous in trading away all my game and making sure Prim got second helpings of meals, and it was making me malnourished. She told me that things like malnourishment and stress could cause a menses to stop, and told me it was my body’s way of protecting a child from being born into a world where it too would be stressed and not nourished enough.

I wonder if this is the case, that I’m naturally protected against becoming pregnant and having a child, due to my environment. The Capitol doctor who examined me didn’t say anything about it, but who knows what that could mean—I’m sure the Gamemakers do that on purpose to try and control us.

I decide to trust my mother on this one, and so I shake my head and tell Peeta, “Don’t—don’t worry about it.” I lean in to try and kiss him again, eager to resume our exploits, but he resists.

“What do you mean, don’t worry about it?” he asks, and knowing he won’t let us proceed until he’s certain I won’t get pregnant, I explain everything to him.

He asks if I can ever have children, which brings up an entirely new set of issues for me, because I  _don’t_  want children if they’ll be forced to pair and procreate like us. He tells me he does want children eventually, “especially with me,” which makes my heart flutter a little for some reason, and he understands when I tell him my reasons for not wanting them.

With a soft kiss, he reminds me, “Well, then it’s a good thing we’ll be free from all this soon,” and I can’t contain the smile that comes across my face. I bring his mouth to mine in a passionate kiss, knowing I’m not as good as he is with words, and the only way to make him understand how much I care for him is to show him.

His strong arms envelop me and gently he lays me onto the blanket before positioning himself at my entrance. He looks up at me once more and I give him a smile and nod in consent.

Yes, Peeta, I want you. I want this.

I help guide him inward, and I am surprised when it doesn’t feel painful or uncomfortable. It just feels… right. Complete. I gaze up at him and find him regarding me, and I become lost in this perfect moment of complete fulfillment. I pull him down to me and place a light kiss on his lips, and he begins to move in and out of my hot, wet center. I whimper at the ache I feel inside of me, and I thrust up to push him deeper into me, desperate to find relief. He quickly catches on and matches his rhythm to mine, and the resulting sensation when he finally hits that spot is indescribable.

“Ugh, Peeta! Oh— _ssshit! Yesss!_ ” I hear myself moan into his ear, and he leans in and places a trail of wet kisses down my neck and across my shoulder. He sucks on the skin and it makes me tremble with need.

Even though we’re as close as we can be, I just can’t get enough of him. My body seems to be moving of its own accord now, my legs wrapping around him so he can thrust deeper inside me, and my hands moving into his hair to tangle in his soft curls. The throbbing ache intensifies, and I lock tightly onto Peeta’s body as it overtakes me. My entire body is stiff, except for the continuous clenching and releasing of my walls around his cock, and I soon feel him twitching inside me, letting himself fall over the edge as well.

I feel awestruck, like crying and laughing at the same time. I feel like never letting him go, and staying cocooned in this blanket with him forever.

We smile shyly at each other, our touches turning gentle after recovering from the powerful release we’ve just experienced, and I sigh as I let myself revel in this feeling of true happiness for the first time. It’s not only the passion we shared earlier, but this blissful feeling as well, that makes me determined to stay with him, no matter what.


	5. Caution: Falling Rocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is another prequel, all about Haymitch and how he tried to escape the fate he ended up with. Pretty depressing stuff here, but remember how he has a hopeful ending in the epilogue of TMG? :D

Haymitch Abernathy had set high expectations for himself, and had met those expectations by age 18. He was dating one of the prettiest Seam girls in his class, Aurora Weber, and planned to pair with her as soon as the Reaping drew closer. He was graduating school with honors, and having excelled in math and science, he already had secured a position as a mechanic in the mines, fixing the enormous machines whenever they broke down.

But what excited Haymitch the most was he and Aurora were going to inherit his grandfather’s large home near the edge of the Seam. It was a beautiful old house, built back when there was no division between Seam and merchant folk, and everyone’s houses looked alike. Haymitch could imagine the beautiful children he and Aurora would have, scampering through the house, their laugher filling it with joy…

Until one day in the early summer, when Haymitch passed by the large board in front of the Justice Building, the board used to keep track of all the 18-year olds in the district.

Aurora’s name was darkened already.

Haymitch’s first thought was that it was a mistake. Perhaps the light bulb behind her name had burned out, or they meant to darken another girl’s name instead of hers. Haymitch ran inside the Justice Building and demanded an explanation, and that’s when he was told that she paired with Phillip Decker, a merchant kid whose parents owned the local woodworking shop. Haymitch had seen the carpenter flirting with Aurora in between classes, but he had never thought anything of it, so confident that Aurora was smitten with him that he didn’t need to worry.

He immediately realized that he was wrong as he approached the woodworking shop and saw Aurora through the window, fawning over an intricately carved rocking chair. He cringed as she kissed Phillip sweetly, and it took everything Haymitch had in him not to bust down the door and sock Phillip right in the nose.

Phillip noticed Haymitch outside fuming, and brought it to Aurora’s attention. She sighed and came outside to confront the rejected man.

“Rora, how could you?” Haymitch asked as he stared at the woman breaking his heart. “We had our life planned out; we were going to be so happy…”

Aurora sighed, “Haymitch, I don’t think you understand. There isn’t _any_ happiness in the Seam, even with you. But Phillip is a merchant. He would have money to buy me pretty things, and make me pretty things. Did you see the chair he made me? What’s the most you could make me, a science experiment? Those little motors and gizmos that you fiddle with? And would you really have expected me to even _touch_ you after you came home from the mines every day covered in soot? No, I’m done living that life, Haymitch. I’ve suffered enough of that with my father and brothers, and I won’t suffer through that with you too. I’ve made my decision, and it’s to be with Phillip.”

Haymitch opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with a reply. He quickly realized he had been too cocky, thinking only of his own goals and happiness, and hadn’t considered her needs. Needs that he couldn’t possibly fulfill.

“Go away, Haymitch,” Aurora ordered as Phillip came outside to stand beside her. “It’s over. Please leave.”

Haymitch dejectedly stumbled away from the merchant and his new wife, and could feel his insides tearing him apart as he thought of the life he’d planned with Aurora, gone. He meandered through the streets of town, not knowing where to turn for comfort.

“Hey, boy!”

Haymitch looked up to see Ol’ Codger, a Single who lived in the nicest part of the district, but who frequently made trips down to the Hob for illegal goods like liquor and morphling. Haymitch always taken pity on Codger—he thought the man lived a sad life, having to resort to drugs and alcohol to keep himself happy. But now that Haymitch saw him again, his eyes red and bleary, towing a wagon of white liquor, he became terror-stricken.

Without Aurora, Haymitch had no prospects for a wife. Would he end up like Codger?

“You look troubled, boy,” Codger remarked as he stopped Haymitch on the street. He handed him a bottle of white liquor and laughed, “Here ya go! Drink your troubles away!” 

Codger laughed all the way down the street until he was out of sight. Haymitch looked at the bottle of liquor in his trembling hand, and felt disgusted with himself for even accepting it in the first place. He couldn’t end up like Codger, he _couldn’t_ , and wanted to do away with the vile liquid as fast as possible, so he found the nearest alleyway, and threw the bottle onto the ground, shattering the glass into a thousand pieces.

Haymitch smelled the strong stench of the potent alcohol rising from where it had been broken onto the ground, and he was proud of himself for resisting, feeling more determined than ever to succeed. He would find a wife for himself even if it killed him, but he would _not_ end up a drunk and a drug addict.

Over the next two weeks, Haymitch ran around town like a mad man trying to secure a wife, but it seemed as though every girl he appealed to was already taken or not interested in him. Haymitch didn’t understand it. He had a good job lined up, was going to live in a nice house, and he thought himself handsome enough to attract a mate. But why were no girls going for him?

Haymitch quickly ran out of options, and before he knew it, Reaping day was upon him. He tried to control his visible shaking as he ascended the steps to the stage of the Justice Building to stand with the other tributes, a pimply-faced boy from the Seam named Ward McNeil, and a merchant girl named Maysilee Donner. 

Haymitch had heard the gossip around town that Maysilee’s twin sister, Meredith, had paired with Todd Undersee, the son of a Peacekeeper and a schoolteacher, and an all-around respectable young man. He had found a job right away as an accountant in the Justice Building, and there was talk that he would be nominated for mayor once the next elections came around. Haymitch had also heard that there was animosity between the twin girls, because Meredith could secure such a socially acceptable pairing and Maysilee could not find anyone at all.

Perhaps she would have better luck in the Capitol. Perhaps they all would.

Everything seemed like a blur to Haymitch as he and the other tributes travelled to the Capitol and took up residence in the Training Center. He took stock of the female tributes he would have to pick from at the opening ceremonies, and saw a few potential candidates for his mate: there was a raven-haired girl from District 3, a chesty girl from District 5, and a girl with beautiful blue eyes from District 9. Haymitch watched as they made their way out to the City Circle on their chariots, waving to the crowds who had come to cheer them on, and once again felt his confidence restored that he would be able to convince one of these girls to be his wife.

The next day at training, he approached the girls he had singled out, and was rejected by all three of them.

Raven Hair from District 3 gave him a funny look when he propositioned her to pair with him, and then flipped her dark locks in his face and sauntered off to another station. Chesty from District 5 laughed at his offer, her bosom jiggling up and down as she chuckled heartily. And Blue Eyes from District 9 rolled her eyes at Haymitch before turning her attention back to the training station in front of her and ignoring him completely.

That night, Haymitch found himself on the roof of the Training Center, in a peaceful and serene garden where he could gather his thoughts, and he pondered why in the world these women would reject him so outright. What was he doing wrong?

“Can I join you?” Haymitch turned to find Maysilee approaching him, her golden hair tumbling down in soft waves on her shoulders. He nodded softly and she took a seat beside him among the flowerbeds. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.

“Not really,” Haymitch replied. “Just trying to… think of my Plan B, is all.”

“Plan A didn’t work out?”

Haymitch shook his head; “My top three choices all rejected me today.”

“Rough.”

“Look, Maysilee, I know you didn’t know me very well back in District 12,” Haymitch said, turning to her, “but do you know… Can you tell me what I’m doing wrong? Why do I keep getting rejected?” 

Maysilee looked at him with a hesitant expression on her face, unsure as to how best she could answer Haymitch’s question, or even if she should at all.

“Please, I—” Haymitch begged, his voice cracking slightly. “It’s a matter of life and death here.”

Maysilee sighed and looked at her slippers as she answered, “Haymitch, you’re right. I didn’t know you very well back in District 12. But girls talk, and the talk about you was that you’re too cocky and full of yourself to see that… that you aren’t as great a prospect as you think you are. I mean, if you return to District 12, you’re going to live in the Seam and work in the mines—”

“Yes, in one of the larger Seam houses, and be a mechanic, not a miner—”

“Those distinctions do not make you special enough,” Maysilee cut him off bluntly. “Sorry, but… it’s the truth. And it’s only more difficult here, when literally every other guy comes from a district that’s wealthier. The only one you may have an upper hand on is pimply-faced Ward.”

Haymitch stared at his shoes as he pondered Maysilee’s words. Had he been too cocky? He thought he had done well for himself, but were all his accomplishments really not enough? How could he ever impress any girl now?

“Can I ask you something?” Maysilee inquired, and Haymitch nodded in response. “Is the _real_ Haymitch Abernathy this cocky asshole you present yourself as? Or is there a Haymitch buried deep inside you who is, I don’t know, kinder? More considerate?” 

Haymitch furrowed his brow in confusion. He didn’t see himself as a cocky asshole, just as someone who knew what he wanted and went for it, and didn’t let anything get in his way. It’s how he had approached getting through school, and securing a job, but it sounded like that approach didn’t work when it came to finding a mate.

Terror gripped Haymitch once again once he realized that he didn’t know any other way to tackle the problem. He didn’t know how to be kinder and more considerate. He wasn’t sure what that would even look like.

“I… I think that this is the real me,” Haymitch finally answered, and Maysilee sighed in reply. They both knew the odds were not in his favor.

After his talk on the roof with Maysilee, Haymitch isolated himself, avoiding everyone at all costs. He monopolized the District 3 station, finding it to be comforting and familiar, and he didn’t even notice when the mousy girl from District 10 took an interest in him. He had already resided himself to the fact that he would succeed in his career, but never in love.

The mousy girl gave up on him after he yelled at her to stop touching the electric engine he was working on.

In the arena, Haymitch calmly walked through the chaos at the Cornucopia to pick up a pack of supplies and get as far away from everyone else as possible. He walked for days, cringing whenever he heard a firework go off in the sky.

He ran across Maysilee at the end of day 2, and she only could give him a strained smile before moving on her way. Haymitch huffed at the girl who had crushed his spirit, secretly delighted that she would have to live with the guilt if he was killed.

Haymitch reached what he was looking for by accident. After cutting through impossibly thick underbrush, he found himself standing in front of a large cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom of it. As he gazed down into the abyss, he gently kicked a rock over the side and watched it fall. Curiously, he didn’t hear a thud, but he thought that might just be because the rock was so small. Haymitch took a few steps back from the ledge and sat down, beginning to unpack his supplies to set up camp.

He looked up just at the right moment to see the rock he’d kicked come flying back up and land on the edge of the cliff. Haymitch rubbed his eyes and scrambled to the rock, examining it.

Then, he threw it out into the abyss again. And he waited. And soon enough, it came back to him.

Haymitch thought about this cliff in relation to his life. Yes, it was clear that he was the little rock being thrown off the side—his girl had left him, he had been reaped and humiliated in front of the entire nation by not finding a mate, and up until this point he felt like he was being hurled into the abyss, seemingly never to return.

But maybe he would not be killed. Maybe he would become a Single, and live life the right way. Not like Ol’ Codger, but like a respectable man. He would do good works for society, and be fulfilled without a wife or family. He too would be able to bounce back up onto the cliff.

Haymitch smiled up to the sky, hoping the Gamemakers were watching him. For the first time in weeks, he felt peace with himself, felt that none of their tactics would break him, and he wanted them to know it.

With a training score of 10, Haymitch was spared from execution. He was awarded Single status for the electric motor he had assembled during his private session with the Gamemakers. And the first thing he did with his new status was to throw it in Maysilee’s face.

“You see?” he laughed as he stood in front of her and her new husband from District 7. “I didn’t need any woman after all! A wife would’ve only tied me down, but I’m bound to do great things, do you hear me, Maysilee? ‘Not as great of a prospect as I think I am.’ Hah! I’ll have every girl here and in District 12 regretting that they didn’t pick me!”

Maysilee stood stone-faced as he danced around them, and she only had one thing to say to him in response:

“Congratulations, Haymitch. I hope you end up happy with what you’ve chosen.”

Haymitch scoffed, “Don’t you worry, sweetheart, I’ll be happy. Much happier than any of you!”

It wasn’t until weeks later, after Haymitch had recovered from his reconstructive surgery and returned home that he realized that perhaps he was wrong about being happier than everyone else with their mates. The doctors hadn’t given him a sufficient amount of morphling for the pain in his groin to dull, and his family, while they were happy to see him, were disappointed that he had made such an ass of himself on TV.

He hadn’t had any visitors since he returned.

Just then, Haymitch heard a knock at the door. “Oh, boy?” he heard Codger’s voice. “Open ‘er up, there!”

Haymitch limped to the door and found a smiling Codger on the other side. “What do you want?” he asked, trying not to sound irritated.

“Thought you might like some company,” Codger replied, pushing past Haymitch, a bottle of white liquor in his hand. Haymitch balled his hands into fists, livid that he had to deal with this on top of everything else.

“I don’t need your company,” Haymitch growled.

“Oh, but I think you do,” Codger countered as he got out two glasses from the kitchen cabinet. “See, I’m the only other one in this whole district who knows exactly what’cha been through. It ruins a man, those Games…” Codger gestured to Haymitch’s crotch and asked, “That hurts, don’t it?”

Haymitch remained silent.

“Take this,” Codger slid a glass of the white liquor toward him. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Haymitch felt numb as he stared at the glass. Wasn’t this what he always wanted to avoid? Wasn’t he going to be a respectable Single man? But the Capitol had taken that opportunity away from him. He’d lost his manhood—both figuratively and literally—and was left with only superficial wealth. He felt out of control, like a deformed monster, and he hated himself for it.

The Capitol created this monster, Haymitch thought as he reached for the glass, so why not embrace it?

As he chugged the liquor down, he remembered the rock on the cliff, and thought that maybe there was no such thing in real life as a protective force field. Maybe he would just fall into the abyss after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the books they always say that Haymitch is the only 'living' District 12 victor, so I figured there must've been at least one other victor before him who'd already died by the 74th Games, and that he or she was probably alive when Haymitch won his Games. So here, I decided to make that character into Codger, and had him introduce Haymitch to that drunken lifestyle.
> 
> Also, in my mind, instead of Victors Village, it's called Singles City, but I cannot bring myself to use that in the actual story because my mind immediately goes to GOB Bluth saying, "I know what you're thinking, how do we weed out the teases?" And then I laugh and I can't take myself seriously anymore. C'est la vie.


	6. Shock and Awe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m very curious to hear what you guys think about this one—this outtake is all about Clove and Thresh, quite possibly the weirdest pairing TMG has to offer. I came up with the pairing because I thought it would be fun to see characters who killed one another in the canon story be paired up in my twisted version—Clove and Thresh, Rue and Marvel, etc.
> 
> I got a lot of flack for how I wrote Thresh originally—on the surface he seemed like a stereotype, but I think people came to like him as TMG went on and we got deeper into his character, and I hope this only deepens your affection for him, and for Clove too.
> 
> As always, I’d like to thank Phantom Serenity (on FF.net) for beta’ing—I don’t know what I’d do without her encouragement!! Enjoy!

Clove enjoyed doing things for their shock value. She first discovered she got a thrill out of it at the age of eight, when she decided to take up stone masonry while other girls her age were into beauty pageants and dance classes. One of her sculptures was proudly displayed in front of the District 2 Justice Building, and when the next school year came around, stonemasonry class was quite a popular elective among the girls.

In truth, she didn’t care what they thought. Clove did the things she did because she wanted to do them, but she still took pleasure out of stunning her friends and family with her actions.

Nothing shocked them more than when she dumped Magnus, her boyfriend of three years, just weeks before the reaping. She’d decided it would be fun to be a Career Tribute, and hoped that she’d be able to leave District 2 and get a change of scenery. Magnus landed on his feet, and ended up with one of the “rock heads” who lived near the quarry—the rest of District 2 considered them to be inbred bimbos, and Clove rolled her eyes at his choice, realizing that as long as a girl put out, he had no standards.

Once she got to the Capitol, she noticed Thresh right away. It was hard not to, with him being so tall and hulking. Enobaria noticed that she could take her eyes off him and whispered to her, “you know, once you go black, you never go back.” Clove gave her a curious expression, and Enobaria only winked in return. She watched him that entire first night at the welcome mixer, and admired how shameless he was—he was acting incredibly foolish on the dance floor, and she appreciated that he wasn’t like the serious boys back in 2.

Some sweaty boy from District 1 approached her that night and asked if she wanted a drink, but she blew him off.

Luckily, Thresh noticed her staring, and approached her.

“So baby girl, I couldn’t help but notice you were checkin me out.”

“Was I?” Clove asked coyly, not wanting to commit to him too soon.

“You likin my moves?”

“They were so stupid,” Clove laughed, answering honestly.

“Ouch. Dang, baby girl. You know how to wound a man.”

She shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

Tired of playing her game, Thresh stepped forward into her personal space. He leaned over her so that his face was directly in front of hers, and she noticed he smelled faintly of oranges.

“Listen. You are  _by far_  the finest girl in this place, and if it’s the last thing I do, I will get you to smile. And then, I will make you mine.”

Clove arched an eyebrow at him, not breaking her indifferent expression, and replied, “Let the Games begin.”

He of course got her to smile the very next day, with the stunt he pulled in front of the Capitol and the entire nation at the opening ceremonies. She sat there, astounded that he would be so bold as to literally shake his junk at her from the catwalk, and could not wipe the look of delight off her face. 

At that moment, she knew they would be able to shock the world together.

She tried not to care as she watched him at that night’s party. Some ribbon-clad twit from District 8 hung all over him the entire time, but Clove sure as hell wasn’t going to let that get to her. She was still keeping her options open, after all.

The sweaty boy from the other night approached her again, so she figured she may as well pass the time with him. She half-listened as Marvel—the stupidest name in the world, she thought—talked all about his father’s perfumery business and how everyone in the Capitol wore his scents.

All Clove could think about was the way Thresh had smelled like oranges the night before.

She tried even harder not to burn with jealously the next day as that girl from 8 desperately clung to Thresh’s side during training. Luckily he still showed interest in Clove, coming right over to her and her friends and showing off how much he could weightlift.

When he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, she couldn’t hide her true feelings any longer.

“Say you wanna pair with me and I’ll put you down,” Thresh joked.

“Are you threatening me?”

“Just admit it, baby girl.” 

“Okay! Okay! Just put me down first!”

He set her down and steadied her as she regained her balance. She looked up at him and worked up the courage to tell him how she really felt, her face contorting as she thought about what to say.

“Look,” she sighed. “I  _do_  like you, and I think we’d be a good match, but… I want you to tone it down. At least while we’re here. I mean… I don’t want anyone to see it coming when we pair in that arena, not even the Gamemakers.”

Thresh nodded, “I feel that. You wanna shock ‘em.”

“Exactly,” Clove smirked. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not open to a little pre-arena fun.” 

That night, Clove and Thresh managed to sneak away from their friends and meet in a dark corner of the party room. No one seemed to notice as they slipped into a booth and drew the curtain closed, jumping on each other as soon as they were out of sight.

The music did a stellar job of drowning out their moans as they worked each other into a frenzy. Clove knew instantly that Thresh had done this with other women before—they way he pumped his fingers in and out of her to skillfully made that fact apparent. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was that he was doing it to  _her_ , and if she had her way, he wouldn’t do it to anyone else for the rest of his days.

Once she was slick with need, he unbuttoned his pants, and Clove gasped as she suddenly understood what Enobaria had meant on that first night. His cock was long and thick and throbbing with need, and for a split second she worried that he may not fit inside her. But as he slowly filled her, she realized that he had lubed her up well enough that he slid in with ease. 

“Oh shit, you’re so tight baby girl,” he muttered into her shoulder.

Once she had adjusted to his size, she began to move, holding onto his shoulders for leverage and pumping his hard length into her over and over as hard as she could manage. He held her hips as she rode him, setting the pace at a hurried speed, and when he inched his large thumb over to her sensitive clit, she fell over the edge and took him with her. She threw her head back as he pulsed inside her, finally feeling certain that Thresh was exactly what she wanted from a man.

It wasn’t easy playing it cool after that. The next day at training, she avoided him almost entirely, all the while enjoying the residual wetness between her legs from the night before. The only time she showed interest in him was when he started beating the shit out of Cato, but even then she seemed to blend in with the crowd of onlookers. Apparently Cato had done something douchey—no surprise there, Cato was the lord of the douches back in District 2—and Thresh was setting him straight for it.

Clove tried not to show any emotion as Thresh was escorted past her, but she couldn’t help the concerned expression on her face as he met her eyes for a brief moment.

That night, after it was announced that their DNA would match well together, Clove skipped the night’s party and snuck up to the 11th floor to visit Thresh. 

“Thresh?” she asked hesitantly, peering into one of the bedrooms.

“Hey baby girl,” he replied in a soft whisper.

She ran to his bed and climbed in with him, throwing her small arms around his large frame. She wanted to tell him how relieved she was that he was all right, but she just couldn’t find the words in that moment.

Luckily he was able to understand her relief through her actions. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be as good as new in no time,” he told her as he gently stroked her hair.

“You better be,” she chuckled, “you have to show off those dancing skills of yours to the Gamemakers tomorrow.”

Thresh laughed and shook his head, “You know my moves will get me a twelve, even with these bruises.”

Clove sighed and snuggled into his arms. She felt so right by his side, and wished they were already in the arena so they could just pair already and get on with their lives. But it was becoming apparent to Clove that if precedent held up, she and Thresh would most likely be returning to District 2.

It discouraged her.

“I wish they would send us to District 11 after we pair,” she whispered to Thresh in the darkness.

“No, no,” Thresh shook his head, “you don’t want to go to 11. I wouldn’t want to put you through that. It’s not good there. None of it is. The working conditions, the Peacekeepers, the… the  _fear_ , baby girl. They put the fear into you to make you obey. It ain’t right. I’d go anywhere else but back there.”

A chill ran down Clove’s spine as she digested Thresh’s words. The situation certainly  _didn’t_  sound right, and she became sad and fearful when she realized she was powerless to do anything about it, about any of it.

There was always the off chance, though, that the Gamemakers would decide to send them to neither of their home districts, and instead assign them to live somewhere entirely new. At this point, that would be the best outcome.

They agreed that night that they would meet at the tail of the Cornucopia as soon as the gong sounded, and would pair bond right then and there. Clove was confident that they would be all right as long as they had a plan in place. They were going to end up together, and that’s all that mattered to her.

Her confidence only grew when they both scored tens in their private sessions with the Gamemakers.

Before she knew it, she was standing on her pedestal in the arena, waiting to run as the announcer counted down the seconds until the Games began. She located Thresh right away, on the far side of the circle, and she smiled to herself as she considered how soon their future would finally be secured.

Five… four… three… two… one…

As the gong sounded, Clove leapt off her pedestal and sprinted to the tail of the Cornucopia. She rounded the corner and smacked straight into another body, and Clove gasped in horror when she saw that the body she ran into didn’t belong to Thresh.

Instead, it was that mouth-breather from 1, Marvel.

“I saw you running here,” he told her as his hands gripped her arms, “so I thought I’d catch you.” Clove’s eyes widened as she realized what Marvel was about to do, and she struggled without success to break free of his grasp. “Feisty one, aren’t you,” Marvel snickered as he pushed her against the Cornucopia wall.

Thinking fast, Clove jerked her knee up right into his nut sack, making him double over in pain and drop her to the ground. With her hands free, she grabbed Marvel by the scruff of his neck and jammed the heel of her hand into his nose, making a cringe-worthy crunching sound.

Then, she hightailed it off into the woods, her plan of finding Thresh all but forgotten in her desperate need to escape from Marvel.

She wandered in the woods for what felt like hours until she found an abandoned backpack full of supplies. She guessed it was from a tribute who had already paired and had left their supplies behind. She was grateful that the pack was so stocked—she ate well and was able to sleep that night secured in a sleeping bag.

As the days went on, Clove kept up her search for Thresh like this, grabbing any leftover supplies she could get her hands on and scavenging for food in the woods. She came across a ton of supplies at the base of a large tree on day three, including a beautiful set of knives, and considered herself to be faring better than most.

Of course, whenever a firework went off in the sky, her head jerked up to make sure the photo of the tribute smiling down on her wasn’t Thresh. Her heart raced every time she had to check.

When she saw Marvel had paired with that small girl from Thresh’s district, a shiver ran through her. Clove knew in her bones that the girl probably hadn’t had a choice in the matter.

By day five, Clove’s resolve was growing weary, and she had run out of water without being able to find another source. She was dehydrated, she could tell, and it worried her. She almost thought she was hallucinating when she heard Claudius Templesmith announce the feast at the Cornucopia the next morning, but knew even if it wasn’t real, she was going to go if it meant having a chance to find Thresh.

Exhausted and sickly, she dragged her feet out into the open field toward the Cornucopia the next morning. She practically collapsed once she reached the table with all of the numbered packs on it, and knew the smaller one with the water bottle inside it was for her. She gulped the water down greedily, and only paused when she heard a familiar voice coming toward her:

“Been a rough couple of days, hasn’t it baby girl?”

Elated, Clove threw the bottle to the ground and ran toward Thresh’s open arms. He caught her and spun her around, then pulled his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. Together they collapsed in a heap on the ground, entwining their legs and smashing their lips hard against each other. 

Clove could hear other tributes around her, but she didn’t care that she and Thresh were out in the open. She wanted to shock them all with her love for him, and quickly helped him strip off his clothes as he did the same for her, until they were both completely naked in the artificial sunlight.

Thresh worshipped her body with his mouth, putting his lips and tongue on every inch of her, making her moan with need. She, in turn, slid her hand around his long shaft and pumped it furiously until he could barely concentrate. He pulled back and stared deep into her eyes, the look of hunger apparent on both of their faces, and he laid her back onto the grass and hovered over her.

Her breathing was ragged as he slid deep inside her, his length hitting the back of her channel, and he tilted her head upward and kissed her passionately once more before beginning his rhythmic thrusts. Clove hung onto him as if her life depended on it, her nails scraping against his back and her whimpers of pleasure growing into screams.

“ _OH!_  Oh  _yes!_  Fuck! Fuck! That’s so good— _shit!_  Oh fuck, yes!  _YES!_ ” she cried, opening her eyes to gaze up at this sex god. She could see he was holding back, wanting to prolong the inevitable, but that wasn’t what this time was about. “Ugh, Thresh, just—give it to me!”

As if he were required to obey her command, Thresh let go as soon as the words were out of her mouth, spilling his seed into her body. They lay there panting for only a moment until the force field came down and picked them up in all their naked glory. Clove sighed as they rose to the hovercraft, still feeling him pulsing occasionally inside her, provoking another delicious spasm from her.

They were given robes after being deposited into the hovercraft, and leaned against one another on the ride back to the Capitol, enjoying their post-orgasmic bliss. All they needed to do was be assigned their occupations and place to live, and then their life together would really start.

But Clove knew when Peacekeepers greeted them as soon as they landed that something was wrong. Weren’t they supposed to be getting prepped? Weren’t they supposed to be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman?

“There’s been a breach,” one of the Peacekeepers said to a staff member on the hovercraft. “One of the hovercrafts has been hijacked, and we need to take all tributes into custody.” 

Quickly, the Peacekeepers moved in on the couple, but Thresh acted quickly too. He managed to take two of them down easily and then grabbed Clove’s hand and took off running. But they only made it about a hundred feet before the Peacekeepers used their stun guns on them, paralyzing them and making them fall to the floor.

“Tsk, tsk. Running just makes you look more guilty,” one of the head Peacekeepers said as he approached their twitching forms. “Take them to the prison. Separate cells.”

As soon as Clove processed what the Peacekeeper had said, she clutched onto Thresh’s arm tightly and screamed, “No! You can’t take him away from me! I won’t let you! You can’t!” Thresh held on just as firmly, still lightly shuddering from the stun gun, with a look of panic in his eyes.

She sobbed violently as several Peacekeepers pried them apart and dragged them off. And as she watched Thresh struggle against the Peacekeepers who were somehow even bigger and stronger than him, Clove knew that someway, somehow, she would need to shock the Capitol once again by rescuing herself and her love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave it at a cliffhanger!! But there will be another outtake of all the other tributes (the ones who didn’t escape with the rebels) being imprisoned, so I didn’t want to get too much into it here. Let me know what you think!!


	7. Pain and Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss' POV of chapter 16 of TMG, after being threatened by Snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite a while since I've updated, and I apologize for that. I hope to get back to writing soon, after taking a much-needed hiatus and focusing on real life for a while. This was written before my hiatus, for the Fandom4LLS fundraiser, and is part of a wonderful compilation of stories from both Twilight and Hunger Games writers. Hope you enjoy.

_Motherfucker—!_

 

The hairdryer slams into the bathroom door.

 

_Son of a—!_

 

Clothes are torn off their hooks and chucked onto the ground.

 

_That bastard—!_

 

Papers from the desk are shred to bits and flung into the air.

 

I take a moment to breathe and look around at my destruction. I’ve trashed almost everything in the entire room, save the heavy furniture bolted to the ground. It only occurs to me now that they’ll probably just have an Avox clean it up, and I’ve only created more work for the oppressed.

 

With a heavy sigh, I collapse on my bed, worn out and having nothing left to destroy.

 

Tearing the room apart did help me feel better, at least for a little while. But now the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach is back, and worse than ever as President Snow’s words play on repeat in my mind…

 

I should’ve known we’d be threatened for going through with our plan. No one has ever admitted to becoming pregnant before an official pairing—it’s shameful, and anyone who has ever even hinted at it has immediately become a pariah.

 

But I knew as soon as Haymitch suggested it that my Peeta could pull it off. I knew he could get everyone on our side with his beautiful way with words, and that he would be able to twist our ‘shameful situation’ into a heartbreaking love story that would leave the Capitol and Districts alike rooting for us.

 

I hope we really _did_ ignite the spark the rebellion needed, as Snow said we had.

 

But then… where does that leave Peeta and I? Yes, we’ve got supporters and probably even sponsors, but that won’t matter to Snow. He’ll kill us in that arena, and make our story a cautionary tale to future generations so that he can maintain control.

 

My blood runs cold at the thought—Peeta and I could be dead by tomorrow evening…

 

I choke on a sob that I didn’t realize was rising in my throat.

 

I wonder to myself if my fate would still be sealed even if we hadn’t made up that story. Snow seems to know that I broke the law all the time by crawling under the district fence to hunt—how he knows, I have no idea—and that by shooting an arrow at the Gamemakers, it was enough to label me as a traitor to my country and warrant my execution.

 

Not surprisingly, I don’t feel guilty about any of that.

 

What I feel guilty about, though, is that I’m responsible for dragging Peeta into it. I can’t help but speculate about his fate—if he would be allowed to live if not for our interviews—and I feel as though I’ve condemned him to die with me.

 

The image of Peeta, lying lifeless on the ground, invades my mind, and fresh tears begin to stream down my cheeks. I curl up into a little ball in the bed, unable to halt the searing pain that rips through my core. I remember this pain from the only other time I’ve felt it, when my father was confirmed dead. Now it seems as though I’m going to lose the only other man who means as much to me as my father did.

 

Exhaustion overtakes me, and I have a fleeting hope that maybe we’ll be spared the pain of seeing one another die by being killed instantly and simultaneously.

 

My eyes fly open later in the night as I hear the soft creaking of the hinges on my door.

 

"Who's there?" I whisper at the shadow stepping into the room.

 

"It's me," the voice answers, and I sigh in relief. The peace I feel is only temporary, though, as I realize he’s just getting us into more trouble by sneaking in to my room.

 

"Peeta, I—You shouldn't be here," I tell him as he surveys my handiwork. I wonder what he’s thinking about this mess—is he realizing that _this_ is the girl he fell in love with? This destructive, unruly, angry girl?

 

At this point, maybe if he decides he doesn’t want me, it would save both our lives.

 

"I know. I just wanted to… I mean, we're as good as dead anyway, right?" Peeta finally replies, and with that, I have my answer. The fact that I tore up this room doesn’t matter to him, and he’s ready to lay down his life for me, if that’s what it comes to.

 

I _really_ don’t deserve him.

 

"I guess you're right," I sigh as I shift over in the bed, making room for him. He practically runs to the bed and envelops me in a tight embrace, and it feels so good to have his strong arms around me, comforting and secure. I try not to think of our fate tomorrow as I attempt to get my breathing under control. It’s not working.

 

"What, um… What did Snow say to you?" he asks.

 

I scoff as I remember the snake-like man who smelled of blood and roses. "He told me that shooting an arrow at the Gamemakers sealed my fate long before the stunt we pulled today,” I say into Peeta’s shoulder. “He insinuated that he knew how I had learned to even shoot a bow, and that alone was cause enough to have me publicly executed. He said he was going to make sure that it would be a _very_ public event." As I consider my own death, I can’t hold back the image of Peeta lying lifeless on the ground any longer, and the pain rips through me once again. He holds me closer as I let out a strangled groan, "This is exactly why I tried to stay away from all of this in the first place!"

 

"Tried to… What are you talking about?" he asks, pulling me back so he can look into my eyes.

 

How do I explain to him that love only causes pain? That the reason I had a plan to become a Single was so I would never have to experience pain like this again? That I would never have to risk becoming like my sad, pathetic mother?

 

"I—I never, um…" I try to speak, but my voice gets caught in my throat. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves, and I start over: "My mother was never the same after my father died. She became just… a shell of herself. And as I watched her turn further inward, shutting out everyone else in the world, I thought, what is the point of loving someone if it causes so much pain when they're gone? And I knew I could provide for myself, and for her and Prim, and so I thought that's all I would ever need to do. I would be able to handle that kind of future. I knew I would enter into the Reaping, and come here, but my plan had always been to become a Single, and never—"

 

I can feel myself begin to hyperventilate as I am overcome by emotions—the wonderful, terrifying, maddening, and miserable—and tears prick the corners of my eyes.

 

"And never give my heart away to someone, so I'd never have to feel the pain of losing him," I finally manage to choke out. Then I laugh, in spite of myself, "But you just had to go and ruin all of that, didn't you?"

 

He cradles my face in his big strong hands, his calloused thumbs brushing my tear-stained cheeks. He whispers, so sincerely, "I… I'm sorry."

 

And with those words, I finally understand. I feel ashamed that I’m making him apologize for something so wonderful. Wonderful and painful—yes, the pain is there too, but… Would I trade this unimaginable joy for the life I had always planned on having, now that I know what I’d be missing out on? Could I trade it? No. I think I’m in too deep now, and I think I’d feel pain of losing him either way. It’s inextricably linked to my happiness.

 

I again think of my mother, and how I’ve seen reminders of her former self all around me this week. How I’ve begun to remember her joy through my own, and how I know I’m stronger than she is, and that I won’t let the pain control me anymore. I will appreciate the happiness, and tolerate the pain.

 

"No, it's okay," I tell him, leaning my head against his shoulder. "In a way, you've helped remind me of how happy my mother was when my father was alive. I mean,” I pause, trying to explain the best I can, “I know that sounds weird, but… I've looked at myself in the mirror every morning this week, and could almost… see my mother's smile in the reflection. I've just been… _really_ happy—happier than I ever thought I could ever be—and I've realized that maybe, giving my heart is worth all the pain that comes later, if it means I can be this happy now."

 

Peeta remains silent for a moment, digesting my muddled words, and then he tilts my chin up to meet his eyes and brings his lips down to mine. I sigh in relief, thankful that he understood what I was trying to say, and my hold on him tightens as our tongues dance around one another. I feel the urge to soak up every inch of him, because I know he may not be here come tomorrow.

 

I create a trail of wet kisses along his jaw and up to his ear, and I nip at his earlobe with my teeth. It makes him whimper in pleasure, fueling my need for him, and he throws himself against me and buries his head into my shoulder, sucking on the love bites he made there yesterday. He shifts us so he’s leaning against the headboard, and I can feel him, hard and ready, against my thigh. I pull back to look into his beautiful blue eyes, and we silently agree that no matter what happens, no one is taking away tonight.

 

I pull my nightgown over my head, throwing it into the pile of destruction on the floor, and I can feel goose bumps form as Peeta lightly runs his fingers up and down my torso. I close my eyes to concentrate on the sensation, knowing I may never feel his touch again, but they fly open again with a gasp as he thumbs over my hardened nipples, sending waves of pleasure through me. I stare at him as he licks his lips, and I know then and there I want his mouth on me. I position myself right in front of him, and thankfully he gets the hint.

 

"Ugh! _Yess…_ " I let out a hiss, throwing my head back as he brushes his tongue against the pebbles of my soft mounds.

 

I can feel the urge building inside me to touch him the way he’s touching me, and so I inch my hands up his shirt and run them along the panes of his stomach. He halts his exploration of my breasts so he can take off his shirt, and once I see his bare chest, something kicks in inside me and I race to put my mouth on him. I gently flick one of his nipples with my tongue, mimicking what he had just done to me, and can’t help the giggle that escapes my lips as I watch him writhe under my touch. It makes me curious to see how else I can pleasure him.

 

I slowly inch myself lower, kissing and caressing all the way, until I reach his tented pajama bottoms. I look up and give him a shy smile, and I can see his realization of what I want to do registering on his face. Once he understands, he can’t seem to get his pants off fast enough. I help him, eager to try what he had done for me a couple nights ago in his room, and he gasps as my mouth meets his cock for the first time.

 

I’m not quite sure how to go about pleasuring him this way, and so I end up listening for clues as I experiment with my lips and tongue. He doesn’t like it when I use my teeth. He does like it when I try and take all of him inside my mouth, although it’s impossible given his length. I compensate by using my hands, and soon I begin to taste his salty pre-come as he begs to me:

 

"Oh, Katniss… _shit—ugh_ , come back up, _please_ —"

 

I move back up his body, unsure if what I was doing wasn’t pleasing to him, or was too pleasing. He senses my uncertainty, and tells me with a soft kiss, "That… felt _so_ good. But, I don't want to finish that way tonight. I just… want to be as close as possible to you."

 

I smile to myself, happy that it was in fact too pleasing for him, and understanding that tonight we need to connect on every level, and not just focus on getting off. We share another soft kiss, our lips lingering on each other, and I whisper against him, "I want that too.” I shift in order to discard my underwear, and I barely have it off before I feel his fingers on me, parting my folds and finding me so hot and wet already. He pushes two of his fingers inside me, hitting the spot that makes me shudder in pleasure, and a whimper escapes my lips as he withdraws his fingers and takes them into his mouth, savoring the way I taste.

 

"That was _so_ hot,” I tell him breathlessly as I press my body against his, unable to stand the wait any longer. I need him to be inside me, _now_. I guide him in slowly and feel overwhelmed by just how deep he is at this angle, and how complete I feel with him filling me. I grind down on him as he thrusts, hitting the ache in the core of my belly over and over, and when he uses his mouth on my neck and breasts and ears, I fall over the edge and my rhythm becomes erratic as I lose control of my body.

 

I collapse onto Peeta’s strong frame as I catch my breath, and it’s only then I notice that he didn’t lose himself with me. He lightly draws random patterns on my back with the tips of his fingers, and whispers softly in my ear, "Do you… want me to be on the top?"

 

"Um… Yeah. Okay," I reply, my head still in a post-orgasm fog. I extricate myself from him and lay down on the bed, shivering as my back hits the cold sheets. Peeta eagerly climbs on top of me, and as he runs his hand against my cheek, he whispers beautiful words that fill my eyes with tears:

 

"No matter what happens, no one can take this away from us."

 

I smile up at him and nod in agreement, trying not to imagine this wonderful man dead tomorrow and not trusting myself to speak without sobbing. I savor the feeling of him pushing inside me once more, and soon I can hear my blood pulsing to the pace of our thrusts. Peeta buries his head in my neck, breathing heavy against my overheated body, and my mind spins out of control as I start to worry again about what our fates will be tomorrow. Will this be the last time I even get to feel as complete as I feel now? Will I ever get to experience Peeta coming apart again, and feel him throbbing inside me? Will I have to suffer and see him be killed, or will he be the one to suffer?

 

As I feel him start to lose control, I steel myself against the searing pain of losing him that I know will appear tomorrow. I try to simply feel grateful to experience this kind of pleasure at all, and so I focus on the sensation of him pressed against my body as he comes inside me, and I can’t hold back my own orgasm any longer. He collapses on me as my walls contract around him, and I think to myself that, yes, the tremendous satisfaction that we’ve just given each other is so very worth it.


	8. Alliances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I'm still writing these!! Here's Katniss' POV of the feast--you get to find out how she escaped Cato! Many thanks to my beta, Phantom_Serenity, for her unwavering support. Enjoy!!

I slowly inhale as I jog through the woods, feeling hope stirring inside me for the first time in days. It’s several miles from the cave to the Cornucopia, but it’ll be well worth the journey.

Finding Peeta among those weeds, his face caked in mud, was a bigger relief than I initially realized. When Rue first told me that she had lost him in the tracker jacker incident, I’d thought he was a goner for sure. In addition to Cato having it out for him, I knew he had not gone unnoticed by the other female tributes, and worried that one of them had found him and had her way with him.

That thought made my blood boil.

But my anger quickly turned to fear once I saw what happened to Rue. She and I separated for not even an hour, and then Marvel…

It turns my stomach to think of her being pinned to the ground, struggling to break free of his grasp, the tears streaming down her face… 

The memory overwhelms me, and I have to lean against a tree for balance.

I close my eyes as I remember my worry that the same thing could’ve happened to Peeta, and it makes my chest feel tight and shallow. I have to remind myself that luckily he’s safe for now—that was enough sleep syrup to knock him out for a good couple of days and I doubt anyone will be able to take advantage of him the way he is now, if they can even find him.

Peeta’s not the only one who’s good with camouflage—I made sure to cover up the entrance to the cave with brush and vines to disguise it.

I hated to have to do that to him, trick him into drinking the sleep syrup. But he never could’ve come along with me to the feast, and if he had stayed conscious in the cave, he would’ve spent his entire time worrying. He may’ve even tried to make himself useful by venturing out of the cave to collect food, which only would’ve done more damage to his infected leg and make him a sitting duck for potential tributes to capture him and do who knows what to him.

Yes, I made the right decision. Now I just have to keep my promise to him that I’ll stay safe, which means keeping away from Cato at all costs. But how? He’s fast, ruthless, and could easily overpower me. I’m sure he’s the one who gave Marvel the idea to use force in the first place, and probably has no qualms about using his strength to subdue me. 

One thing he seems to be lacking is brains. I’ll just have to be cleverer than he is… 

I open my eyes wide as I hear a ‘thunk’ against the tree trunk right next to my ear. I glance over and see an arrow lodged in the tree, and I quickly turn to see who I need to defend myself against, who is unfortunately using my weapon of choice.

Off in the distance, I see a slender girl with two braids coming toward me, and recognize her as one of the girls from District 1. I narrow my eyes at her, trying to discern which blonde bimbo from 1 she is—one of them is Glimmer, who I dropped a nest of tracker jackers on. The other is Cashmere, who had her eye on Peeta during the entire week of training. Either way, I don’t see this ending well for me.

I unsheathe my knife, just so I have something to defend myself with, as the blonde makes her way closer. As she moves in, I can see a swollen bump on her neck, and another on her hand as she holds the bow and arrow at the ready. This must be Glimmer, and she must be here to kill me.

“Katniss Everdeen. Fancy meeting you here. You headed to the feast?” she asks me, keeping her weapon ready to fire at me.

“I am,” I reply, steeling my expression into a mask to hide my fear. My grip tightens on my knife.

“You have to know I’m not very pleased with you.”

“I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t be pleased with you if you dropped a tracker jacker nest on me.”

Glimmer scoffs, “You think that’s why I have this arrow aimed at you right now? Hell no! I’m about ready to slaughter you because you’re in the way of me getting what I want.”

I can feel my brow furrow in confusion. I’m in her way? Does she want Peeta too?

“You’re going to meet Cato at the feast, aren’t you?” she asks, and my mouth drops to the floor.

She thinks I’m after _Cato?_

“What! Why on earth would I want Cato?” I ask disbelievingly. “Last you saw me, I was trying to get _away_ from him.”

“Well, a couple of days can really change a person’s perspective,” Glimmer says casually. “I thought you’d finally realized he’s the best catch in this arena.”

The thought makes me want to lose what little food I have in my stomach. How can she possibly think that arrogant, self-centered, douchebag is a catch? They must really have different standards in those Career districts.

I throw my knife to the ground in front of her as a symbol of my intent. “Glimmer, I do not want to fight you for Cato. I don’t want Cato. Never did. Never will. In fact, I’ve been trying to come up with a way to avoid him at all costs. So there’s no need to fight me, because I’m not standing in your way.” 

She stares at me for a moment, mulling over my words, and finally lowers the bow.

“Then why are you headed to the feast?” she asks cautiously.

I sigh, embarrassed with my predicament. I’ve never seen myself as the love-struck heroine, willing to do anything for her man, and yet it appears that’s what I’ve become. A small part of me still dies inside whenever I think of how stupid I am to risk my life for a silly boy.

Then images of Peeta’s smiling face floods my mind, and I accept my fate. He is certainly _not_ just a silly boy. He has given my life real meaning, more than I ever could’ve dreamed for myself, and is worth defending.

“Peeta’s very badly injured,” I tell Glimmer, “and I know there will be medicine waiting there for him.”

“Aww, isn’t that sweet?” Glimmer teases, and the embarrassment washes over me yet again. I fight the wave of humiliation easier this time as I remember who exactly I’m fighting for. Glimmer’s mischievous smile softens into a more serious expression as she tells me, “He really does love you, you know. Seeing the way he cares for you almost makes me want to change my strategy.”

“Your strategy?” I inquire as she sets down her pack and starts digging through it for supplies.

She pulls out a coil of rope and tells me matter-of-factly, “Well, I’m not after Cato because I’m in _love_ with him, that’s for damn sure. He’s just another status symbol as far as I’m concerned, but status is really important to me.”

“That’s… sad,” I say bluntly.

Glimmer shrugs as she starts to make a knot in the rope. “Maybe. But not everyone gets to have an epic love story like yours, so I’ll settle for status.” She holds out the knotted rope in front of her and turns a critical eye to it. “This is not going to be long enough.”

“Long enough for what?”

“For catching Cato up in a snare,” she replies wickedly, and I’m immediately intrigued. If he’s dangling by his ankle in a snare, then there’s no way he’ll be able to take me down. I can get away from him safely.

I unzip my pack and rummage around for my own coil of rope, and then toss it to Glimmer. “Here,” I say, “now your rope is twice as long.”

“You want to help me?” she asks, her perfectly manicured eyebrow arched.

“Of course, if it means he won’t be able to come after me any more,” I reply.

Her smirk grows and she begins tying the two ropes together. “Good, then you won’t mind if I use you as bait,” she says nonchalantly.

“B—bait?” I stutter.

“Oh don’t worry,” she says, handing me some of the rope, “I’ll be up in the trees ready to take him out with my bow if he actually gets close enough to grab you. Now, climb this tree to secure the snare on one of those higher branches.”

I look at the rope in my hand and consider what I’ve gotten myself into: being used as bait for a Neanderthal of a man who could easily force himself on me all for the benefit of a girl who not five minutes ago had an arrow pointed at my head and could care less about my wellbeing.

Then I once again remember Peeta’s medicine at the feast, and how I’m not just doing all this for Glimmer. With a sigh, I begin to climb the nearest tree.

……………………………

I see the Cornucopia through the brush in front of me—a metal table sits in front of the mouth, and on the table are several backpacks with numbers. I see one at the very far end that is smaller and has a ‘12’ stitched on it, and I know this is Peeta’s medicine.

I fight the urge to sprint toward it as fast as possible, knowing I have to follow the plan.

Suddenly, from my right, I see a petite brunette girl stagger from the bushes. She looks tired and dehydrated, but determined, and she almost collapses onto the table when she reaches it. She grabs the pack marked with a ‘2’ and opens the top, letting water spill into her open mouth and all over her face.

Yes, that girl from 2 really is dehydrated.

Then she turns her head abruptly, and I follow her gaze to the large man coming out from the woods. I recognize him as Peeta’s friend, Thresh, and I smile as he embraces with the girl from 2.

Then things get heated very quickly between them, and I have to avert my eyes. 

But that’s when I see him—Cato’s hulking form stalking over to the table to grab his backpack. He notices Thresh and the girl from his district and I hear him make some kind of snarky comment, but they pay him no attention. I see his chest rise and fall as he huffs and looks around, and I know he’s searching for me.

He makes another heavy sigh and starts to walk away, and I know this is my cue. As quick as my legs can carry me, I dart out from the safety of the woods and past the now naked lovers on the ground to the metal table. I snatch up Peeta’s medicine and take off toward the snare, just in time for Cato to notice me.

“You stupid girl!” he laughs as he starts after me. “You won’t get away from me this time!”

I pump my legs faster than I thought was possible as I race through the woods, dodging tree roots and low branches, and I can hear Cato right on my heels. I cannot slow down, even though I’m out of breath. Escaping the predator is my only option.

Soon enough I reach Glimmer, who is hidden up in a tree with her arrow poised. I zero in on the rope hanging to the forest floor—to anyone not looking carefully enough, it would blend right in with the other branches—and I smile to myself, knowing I’m almost there. I sidestep around the snare as I run past it, knowing Cato’s large frame will be unable to avoid it, and I smile to myself knowing it will be over soon.

Then I feel something pulling at my foot, and I realize Cato has grabbed my shoe. Terror seizes me as he laughs, and I know I have to act quick. I jerk my leg toward him, freeing my foot from my shoe, and I keep running as Cato inevitably steps on the snare.

“Argh! Dammit!!” I hear his strangled yell as he is pulled up by the ankle into the air. Relief rushes through me to hear the telltale snap of the rope, and I have to turn around to make sure it’s really happened.

I turn to look and find Cato dangling ten feet up, struggling to free himself from the snare. He’s dropped my boot, and I notice his knife has fallen from his pocket to the ground as well, so he’ll even be unable to cut himself free, and this revelation makes me even more pleased.

Glimmer lands on the crunchy leaves next to me, and we exchange a satisfied smile. “Good job, bait,” she tells me. “Now what are you waiting for? Go back to your man.”

The thought of Peeta still unconscious in the cave sends my feet flying again, my boot all but forgotten on the forest floor. I wind through the trees, noting the marks in them that tell me I’m on the right path, and my heart pounds faster as the sounds of rushing water get closer.

I can’t wait to get back to him. The thought consumes me.

Before I even realize it, I am back at the cave. I had almost forgotten what it looked like all covered up, but was able to recognize my handiwork before I ran right by it. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I rip apart the camouflage guarding the entrance to the cave and rush to Peeta’s side. His forehead has a thick sheen of sweat covering it, and when I unwrap the bandage around his leg, I can see the infection has gotten worse.

I only hope I’m not too late.

Wasting no time, I pull the small bag from my pack and find a silver canister inside, filled with sticky cream. I take a generous amount in my hand and slather it on to Peeta’s leg, making sure every inch of the wound is covered. It begins to dry quickly, acting as a bonding agent to his skin and visibly closing the gap where pus was seeping out moments earlier. He shifts slightly then, and I worry I’ve awakened him, but he remains in his peaceful, sleep syrup-induced slumber.

I breathe a sigh of relief for the first time in days, knowing that while he is sleeping, his leg will be healing, and then maybe we will be able to get out of this hellhole. I think then of all the other rebels who are counting on us, still out there, waiting for our photos to appear in the sky, and for the first time since entering the arena, I have hope that we will actually accomplish what we need to in order to set the rebellion into motion.

I leave the cave briefly to wash my hands of the medicine in the creek, and as the cool water slowly washes the cream away, I hear a firework go off in the distance. I look up to the skies and am met with the faces of Cato and Glimmer, and I have to smile to myself. In helping each other, she and I both got what we wanted.

With that thought, I remember Peeta’s sleeping form. I want to be there when he wakes up, and so I shake the water off my hands and head back to the cave. The sight of him makes my heart skip a beat, and I think to myself that, maybe I could be okay with this mushy love stuff, as long as it’s with him. I lay down next to him, suddenly realizing how exhausted I am, and a smile crosses my face as my eyes grow heavy and close.

We are together, and we’re going to be okay.


	9. Life Over Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is especially for Shoney, who has asked repeatedly for this outtake—sorry if the delivery is a little late, and I don’t know if this is exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> And of course, it goes without saying that I owe a ton of gratitude to my wonderful beta, Phantom_Serenity, who has stuck with me through thick and thin.
> 
> Shoney’s request: an alternate ending for if Cato would have gotten his way and actually paired with Katniss—their life together as mates

I’m exhausted. More than I ever thought I could be. My back is killing me, and I need to just sit down for a while.

“Katniss!”

Oh fuck.

“I’m going out,” he yells from the back door of the house. Our house. Our cold, modern home, with far too much granite and natural stone on every surface. It feels like I’m living in a cave.

“Dinner better be ready when I get back.”

I wonder what I’ll possibly be able to cook to satisfy him. He’s criticized everything I’ve ever made, and yet he still insists I cook dinner. ‘It’s my job,’ after all.

“Katniss! Do you hear me?” he thunders, stomping into the living room where I sit. I try to get up, but my equilibrium is thrown off and I fall back into the chair. He takes purposeful strides across the room and towers over me menacingly, raising his hand. I try not to flinch. 

“I expect a good meal when I get home,” he snarls. I look up briefly, and my eyes meet his threatening glare. My gaze falls back into my lap, not wanting to stare at him too long—I know better than to look defiant. I nod in understanding, and he lowers his hand and leaves, chuckling to himself and slamming the door behind him.

I let out a shuddering exhale, realizing I had been holding my breath in fear. 

Cato has hit me before. Beaten me, even. Earlier in my pregnancy, he beat me so bad that I found blood in my underwear afterward. I was scared beyond belief, and made Gale and Slater take me to the doctor to make sure Cato hadn’t killed the baby. He hadn’t, by some miracle, and afterward he has been more careful. He hits me less now, and when it does happen, he aims for my face or my limbs rather than my belly.

He thinks it’s his, which is why he’s so protective of it. He’s rather proud, actually, and enjoys parading me around town, showing off my pregnancy to everyone and telling them we’re doing this or that to the nursery. He tells everyone he hopes it’ll be a strapping boy like him.

I let him think it’s his for my own protection, but I know the truth. The truth of the series of events that has led me here…

I think about my time in the arena constantly. Sometimes it’s because I want to, and other times it’s involuntary. I feel as though my memories are a penance I have to pay for the way things ended up. In many ways, I’m extremely lucky: I am alive, my child is alive… I have a roof over my head, and food. I live in the same district as my best friend and his wife, who help care for me…

I should be thankful.

Most days, however, I sit at the kitchen table with a butcher knife, thinking about slicing my throat or my wrists. I spin the blade on its tip and watch it, mesmerized, and wonder what it would feel like. Would I feel better as I did it, welcoming death? I’m certainly desperate to make the agony go away. Desperate to be with him again.

I’d much rather be with him than living like this. 

I always talk myself out of it in the same way: I tell myself it will be better once the baby arrives.

I found out Peeta had died after I found out I was pregnant with his child. If it had been the other way around, I would’ve undoubtedly found a way to kill myself; there would be no other reason to continue to live. But the Capitol doctor who examined me after the arena—bless his heart—showed me I was a week further along than I should’ve been, confirming that it couldn’t be Cato’s child. And this fact is the only thing that has kept me going until this day, knowing I have a small piece of Peeta to still hang on to, even if he is gone. 

Some days I dream that the child will have his eyes, or his smile, just so I can see those features again. Other days, I think better of myself, and rationalize that if Cato saw those things, he would know the child wasn’t his, and would make both me and the child suffer for it, which is the last thing I want.

Yes, I need to let him think it’s his, for as long as I possibly can. 

Knowing I need to start dinner soon, I struggle out of the chair and waddle into the kitchen.  I peer into the icebox and pull out some buffalo meat, deciding to make a stew. Hunting in District 2 is impossible, but the butcher here sometimes lets me buy entire carcasses and carve them myself, which brings about that primal feeling I used to get from hunting. Experimenting with cuts of buffalo meat has been one of the few pleasures I’ve found here, and thankfully Cato hasn’t complained about constantly having it for dinner.

I’ve just finished cubing a loin when I hear a frantic knock at the back door. I shuffle over as fast as I can and find Gale on the other side, a fearful look in his eyes.

“Katniss,” he sighs. “Thank goodness. You’ve got to come with me.”

He wraps a cloak around my shoulders, grabs my arm, and begins to tug me out the door.

“What the—Gale!”

He turns and cups a hand over my mouth, glowering at me.

“You want to make it out of here alive? Then be quiet. I’ll explain when it’s safe.”

“Okay,” I muffle my answer, and Gale removes his hand. Silently, we move through the brush behind a row of houses, and I figure out that we’re following the perimeter of the neighborhood headed east, toward the train station.

Our Games had changed a lot of opinions in the districts. Or rather, Peeta’s infamous interview had changed a lot of opinions. Even in the Career districts, people began speaking out against the Capitol, and Peeta’s death had only added fuel to the fire. He had become a martyr of sorts, and they wanted me to step up and carry on his work. But I couldn’t, and I still can’t. My grief still rules me on a daily basis, as does my pregnancy, and most people in 2 have figured that out enough to leave me alone.

Gale and Slater, however, have been instrumental in the rebellion efforts in District 2. They’ve connected to an underground network of communication with the Capitol and other districts, and have been gleaning supporters to help fight when the time comes. They have a son to think about, after all, and want a better life for him just as I secretly wish for my child: a life without offspring quotas and pair bondings and a Mating Games. A life that Peeta died trying to attain.

I’ve told Gale to leave me out of it until it’s absolutely necessary that I act. And now must be the time.

“The rebels are going to bomb The Nut,” Gale tells me as the train station comes into view. “And this is the last train out of here before they do it. They know you’ll be on the train, so they’re waiting to carry out the plan until you’re safe.”

I notice Slater and Tank in the crowd, covered by layers upon layers of clothing to disguise themselves, standing on the platform with two suitcases. Slater looks in our direction and breathes a sigh of relief. When we reach them, Gale takes her in his arms and squeezes her tightly, as if she will disappear if he lets go.

I hear her start to sniffle as they embrace, and I realize what’s happening.

“Gale, you’re not coming?” I ask in disbelief. 

He sighs, “I have to stay here, Catnip. The rebels need me on the inside. It’s the only way they’ll be able to infiltrate—”

“No,” I protest. My heart is pounding in my ears. I’ve already lost the love of my life, and now I may lose my best friend too? “Slater,” I cry, grabbing her shoulders, “you have to talk him out of this!”

“I tried, Katniss,” she says pitifully. “We’ve talked about this moment for months, and this is what has to be done. I’m sorry, I know you said to keep you out of it, but we should’ve told you this sooner.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, needing to know all the details now.

“District 13,” Gale replies, picking up Tank and holding him close. “You’ll be safest there. Haymitch is there, and the other rebels from your Games…”

“I think Finnick is there too,” Slater adds. “You two may be able to help each other.”

My mind flashes back to Annie and one of the girls from District 8, the last tributes left in the arena, being struck down by some kind of electrical jolt. That horrific memory is burned into my brain—I see it almost as often as I see Peeta’s camouflaged body wasting away near the bank of the stream.

Annie’s eyes wide with fear, whispering into the air to Finnick that her love will always be with him… it breaks my heart every time I think of it.

I feel responsible. I couldn’t save Peeta, and I couldn’t save Annie either. I wonder if Finnick will blame me when he sees me.

Gale signals to the train conductor and pushes us toward the edge of the platform. “You’ve got to get going, the train has to get out of here before the rebels lose their chance to act.” He pulls me into a hug, barely able to get his arms around my enormous belly, and whispers, “Hang in there, Catnip. Stick with Slater and Tank—they’re your family too, you know.” 

“I know,” I whisper back.

Gale gives Slater and Tank one last parting embrace, whispering promises to them that they’ll see each other again, even though it doesn’t feel that way. And then he helps us onto the train. As soon as Slater has stepped aboard, Tank in her arms, the train begins to move away from the station. I watch as Gale gets farther and farther from view, and a pang of emptiness hits me. It’s the same emptiness I felt when I found out about Peeta, like a part of me is now lost and gone forever.

I try and maintain some hope on our two-day journey to District 13. Slater helps to keep my spirits up by telling me about the revolution efforts, and how the rebels have taken control of most of the districts. She smiles when she says that it won’t be long until the Capitol falls.

“But then what?” I ask. “Haven’t we just caused more death and destruction? I mean, we’re still trying to repopulate from the last revolution. Aren’t we just endangering our own survival even more with all this loss?”

“Katniss, you’re living proof that new life can come out of death and destruction,” Slater remarks, looking pointedly at my belly. “And it’s not just that. You’re proof that the Capitol standards of reproduction are ridiculous, and flat out wrong. That it’s best if we’re free to choose who we love, and that new life will certainly be created if we have that freedom. That’s what you and Peeta stood for, and it’s the message that needs to get to the people.”

Slater’s words turn over in my mind through the rest of the trip. She’s right, of course—my motivation to ensure my child’s health and happiness comes from the fact that it’s Peeta’s child. I wouldn’t feel anything for it if it were Cato’s, and I know of other women who have aborted their children because they didn’t feel anything for their spouse and didn’t want to bring a child into a loveless family, even if it meant not meeting their quota. If everyone were free to choose who they married, perhaps repopulation would come easier.

At some point in the night, our train burrows underground, but since it’s dark I don’t notice until we’ve pulled into a stark white train station, the bright lights temporarily blinding me.

Haymitch and Plutarch, the Gamemaker who was secretly aiding the rebels, are there to greet us. 

“There’s our Mockingjay,” Plutarch says proudly. He then gestures to my stomach. “And look at that growing baby! Good for you, you must be ready to pop any day now.” 

“I sure hope so,” I mutter in response as I plop gracelessly onto the platform.

“Hi sweetheart,” Haymitch says, greeting me with a kiss on the cheek. He, more than anyone, knows what losing Peeta meant to me, and so I can tell he’s trying his hardest to be sensitive. It’s almost endearing to see him that way. He puts a comforting arm around my shoulders and walks me toward a long corridor. “Let’s get you settled in,” he suggests, “then we can talk.”

I thought my home in 2 felt cold, but compared to the minimalistic style of District 13, the home I left behind was downright cozy. Only the bare essentials are in each of the identical sleeping compartments here—a bed, a dresser stocked with gray uniforms, a desk supplied with exactly two black pens and a notepad, and a small en-suite bathroom with a sink, standing shower, and toilet.

It’s a good thing I’m not a high-maintenance girl who requires lots of beauty products. I wonder how some of the Capitol people are getting along here…

As soon as I sit down at the desk chair, there’s a knock at my door. I shout for whoever it is to come in, knowing it’ll be much quicker for them to open the door rather than try to pull myself out of this chair to get there.

I am unprepared to see Finnick standing in the doorway. He tries to smile at first, turning to the door behind him, but we exchange a solemn glance as he turns back to face me.

I can see the pain clearly on his face. I’m sure it’s the same expression I’m wearing.

I pull myself out of the chair as he crosses the room, and he envelops me in a shuddering embrace. I can feel tears running down my cheeks, but I can also hear his quiet sobs in my ear. 

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

“Me too,” Finnick replies.

We pull apart and he helps me back into the chair, and once we’re over our initial, overpowering grief, we’re able to talk.

“You wouldn’t believe how much guilt I’ve held onto for not being able to save her,” I admit quietly.

“Don’t blame yourself, Katniss,” Finnick hushes me. “I saw you run after her once the gong went off. You were a good friend to her, and saw she was in trouble.”

“But it wasn’t enough—”

“But nothing would’ve been. She was doomed from the moment she and I reconnected. I mean… I knew how risky it was to sneak around with her,” he tells me candidly. “But I don’t regret it. I can’t regret it, now that she’s gone. If I had stayed away from her like I was supposed to and she had died, I’d never forgive myself. But at least this way, I get to cherish those last precious moments with her.” 

I nod in agreement. “I know what you mean. I think about those moments I shared with Peeta all the time. I mean, obviously I do, I can’t get away from it now.”

“So it is his?”

“Yeah. Nowadays I’m usually cursing at him under my breath for what he did to me,” I joke. “I feel like a cow.”

“Stop that. You’re lucky,” Finnick reminds me. “If I could do that with Annie’s child, I would in a heartbeat. It would be as if she never left, and a part of her would still live on.”

I hum in response, “That’s the only thing that has kept me going some days, that a little part of him is still with me.”

A long beat of silence passes before Finnick asks, “Now that you’re here, are you going to film a propo?”

“A what?”

“A propo. Propaganda film. For the rebels. Plutarch is trying to get all the past tributes to do one, and I’m sure the public has been anxious to see one from you. You and Peeta are the spark that set fire to this rebellion, and I’m sure something from you would surely give the rebels that final push to overtake the Capitol, especially if you confirm that the baby inside you is his.”

I glance down at the swelling mass that has overtaken my body and consider Finnick’s words. This child has certainly been the thing that has kept me going in all these months—will it keep the rebellion going as well? Were we really that influential in igniting the revolution? Will the simple admission of this truth that I’ve clung to be lifeblood for the rebels?

I try and think of what Peeta would do. He was always so charismatic, perfect for the spotlight. I hardly feel that way about myself—I cringe when I think of my interviews with Caesar Flickerman, how awkward I was. And yet, as Haymitch has told me many times before, Peeta and I captured the audience’s hearts, and they wanted a happy ending for us. And Peeta always played right into that, knowing it would bring sponsors, and rebel sympathizers.

I think he would want me to reveal that this child is actually his for that very reason. I’m sure he would say that the nation deserves to know that I did get a happy ending, sort of, and that this little one is proof that the Capitol cannot regulate love, as hard as they try.

I look back up at Finnick, feeling invigorated. “I’ll do it,” I tell him, and he gives me his trademark grin in return.

Once I tell Plutarch that I’m agreeable to filming a propo, things move very fast. I have to memorize a script of what I’m going to say, and try on costumes that will ‘accentuate my baby bump, but not make me look fat,’ as my prep team tells me, and through it all I have to keep reminding myself of why I’m doing this.

“It’s for Peeta,” I whisper to myself whenever I feel like I’m going to pull my hair out. For his memory, and his legacy.

Soon I find myself on a small soundstage against a simple black backdrop in a plum colored dress ‘that has ruching in all the right places.’ My hair falls in soft waves around my face. I catch sight of myself in a video monitor, and for the first time, I see myself as maternal.

I take a deep breath, and the camera begins to roll.

I hold up a sonogram photo taken especially for this propo, and tell the camera, “This is my child, who will arrive any day now. Many of you will look at me and see an example of the Capitol’s well-oiled reproduction machine: a successfully pair-bonded Mating Games tribute, well on her way to filling her child quota. But you should look closer—”

I outstretch my hand, bringing the sonogram photo closer to the camera. I can hear the lens refocusing, and I remember to take another breath. “This child is a mockingjay, a creation that the Capitol never intended to exist, and is proof that real love cannot be manufactured. This is Peeta Mellark’s child, and when this child grows up, I want him or her to have the freedom that Peeta and I fought for, that he died for.”

I can feel tears of grief forming behind my eyes, and my voice trembles as I give my last line: “This is what my child—and all of Panem’s children—deserve.” 

I hear Plutarch yell cut, and I let all the air out of my lungs and double over in tears.

“You did good, sweetheart,” I hear Haymitch say as he approaches me, patting me on the shoulder. “You did his memory justice.”

“Stellar performance!” Plutarch congratulates me. “You _almost_ looked comfortable in front of the camera. Oh, but don’t worry, your uneasiness is part of your charm.”

“Thanks?” I reply questioningly, wiping my eyes.

Haymitch elbows me in the ribs and whispers, “Come on, let’s get outta here before he changes his mind and makes you do more. I got a surprise for ya.”

I follow Haymitch through the twisting corridors, having no clue where I am. How Haymitch has managed to memorize where he’s going is a mystery, but eventually we arrive in the wing of compartments especially reserved for families. He points to a room on the left and tells me, “Welcome home.”

Curiously, I turn the knob and open the door, and am stunned by what I see. There sits my mother and sister, chatting and laughing as if they were back in the Seam. They look up to see me and smiles overtake their faces.

“Katniss! I can’t believe it!” Prim shouts excitedly as she jumps up from her seat and rushes to me, hugging me tightly. “You’re so big!”

“Prim, how—”

“I knew to send for them once I heard you were on your way,” Haymitch explains.

All I can do is beam at him, at everyone. There are no words to express my gratitude. I give Prim another big hug, and then I look over at my mother. I could sense her regarding me as I reunite with my sister, and now I see the look in her eyes—she’s proud of me. It feels good to see that from her. We walk to one another and warmly embrace.

They tell me of life in District 12 after the Games, how things seemed to get worse than they already were, which I didn’t think could be possible. Scores of extra Peacekeepers were assigned to our district, and they were much stricter than the lazy ones we were used to. The Hob was destroyed, and my mother and Prim saw death at their door more times than they liked to recall in the form of starving children and diseased elderly. My mother eventually had to turn away patients because she had run out of supplies.

The merchants fared no better—everyone there had always admired Peeta, and while a few regarded his intentions to pair with a ‘Seam slut’ as disgusting and dishonorable, most were able to see his moral character shining through, and were angry with the Capitol over his death. Many began speaking out, carrying his message, and were punished for it. Public whippings became commonplace, with sometimes several at a time incurring the wrath of the Peacekeepers.

Thinking of the horror of it makes bile rise in my throat.

Just as in District 2, a secret network of rebels formed, made up of merchant and Seam alike. Together with the help of the Capitol rebels, they carried out a mass execution of all the Peacekeepers and overtook the district. But while power had officially changed hands, daily life was still a struggle. 

“At least here in 13 we’re guaranteed three meals a day,” Prim points out as she and Mother finish regaling me with the tale. “Basic things were hard to come by in 12, because the rebels needed all their resources for the soldiers. But here, most of the people _are_ the soldiers.”

It’s true, the rebel military is based here in 13, and so everyone either is an officer or is the family of an officer, and so they are regularly supplied with the essentials.

Ever since my propo aired, the people of this district have taken to calling me ‘Soldier Everdeen.’ It hardly seems like a fitting title—I’m not putting my life on the line like they are.

As I sit with my mother and sister, a sudden rolling wave of pain washes over me, and for a moment I feel like I can’t breathe. Prim and my mother rush to my side, sensing my agony, and my mother cups my cheek and tells me to breathe. She helps me stand so that we can go to the medical wing, and as I stand, a small stream of water runs down my leg.

This is the one thing the Capitol reproduction class in school has prepared me for: I remember that water breaking is the first sign of labor. Then I remember learning what’s to come, and it terrifies me.

Supported by my mother and sister on either side of me, we slowly trudge to the medical wing. By now my contractions—those rolling waves of pain—arrive more steadily, and so it’s difficult to tell what’s going on around me. I can only sense panic in the air unrelated to my labor, and briefly notice a soldier here or there rushing down the corridors before my own pain snaps my attention back to the job I have to do in the next hours to come.

Word spreads quickly once I’m situated in the medical wing. Slater gets there as fast as she can, thankfully without Tank to look after, and stays by my side through the entire ordeal, encouraging me to continue to endure the pain because in the end it’ll be worth it. Finnick stops in a few times to check my progress, telling me I look gorgeous and that I’m doing wonderfully, which I can’t help but roll my eyes at.

Even Haymitch pops in, very unsure of himself and his place, but I welcome him. I welcome all of them—as Gale said, they’re my family too.

And there, surrounded by the women I hold dearest to my heart, I deliver a baby girl. Peeta’s baby girl. Looking at her after she’s cleaned off, I shake my head at my own foolishness. Her eyes are unmistakably Peeta’s, and there’s no way I could’ve ever pretended otherwise with Cato. I hold her close and am filled with overwhelming gratitude that I escaped from that prison, and that I will be able to ensure her safety. 

I name her Laurel. It pays homage to both my lineage and Peeta’s—cinnamon spice is derived from the laurel tree, and it’s a way for her not to forget where she came from.

I sit in my hospital bed admiring her when Slater rushes in and tells me the news: the rebels have taken the Capitol, and Snow is dead. Finally, a new era of peace and freedom can be ushered in to Panem, and it’s all because of Peeta and me. We were the spark that ignited the kindling of the rebellion, and kept it burning with our message of hope.

And, now that my little girl is here, who is a wondrous mixture of Peeta and myself, I know that she will live on as the symbol of hope—both in Panem’s history, and in my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I really want to apologize to all my readers who have stuck with me and who are still anxiously awaiting another chapter of The Highest Bidder. I am SO sorry to keep you waiting, and I promise I am slowly but surely making progress on it, and I hope not to drag out the story for too many more chapters so that you won't have to wait this long every time for updates.
> 
> Second, THANK YOU for sticking with me. I know as a reader myself that it's hard to sustain enthusiasm for a story that hasn't updated in a while, and I am truly humbled by all the supportive messages I've received--it's probably the only thing at this point that's keeping me writing, and my appreciation is endless.
> 
> Lastly, I'm sad to say, I don't know how much more inspiration I have left in me to write, at least for now. This is the reason my updates have been sorely lacking, and after I finish THB, I will most likely take a break from writing. Real life has left me little time to write--work has become more demanding, my husband and I are buying a house, and there are a thousand other little things that add up to not being able to write as much as I used to. It's sad to say, but I feel like it's something that needs to be said so that your expectations of me are realistic.
> 
> Again, thank you one and all for reading and enjoying my stories. I hope once life settles down again that I can return to writing more regularly--it is something I love to do and it fills me with joy that others like my writing too. Definitely look for updates on The Highest Bidder, and after that, let's just say I'm taking a little sabbatical. ;) Love to each and every one of you!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any suggestions of outtakes you'd like to see, please let me know!


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